


Luck of the Stars

by battybatzgirl



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Basically the plot of the movie but with different twists, Bones is just along for the ride, Drunk Spock, Falling In Love, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jim is jack, Lots of tears, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-explicit character death, Oh My God, Porn With Plot, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Dancing, Spock is Rose, Strip Chess, THE SHIP SINKS WHAT DID YOU EXPECT, it'll be okay I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-08 07:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11076462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battybatzgirl/pseuds/battybatzgirl
Summary: On April 10th, 1912, the Enterprise sets sail to America. Though it may be unsinkable, Spock feels like he is drowning in an engagement destined for disaster. That is—until he meets Jim Kirk.AKA, the Titanic AU that no one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Here I am with another AU, again 32K.
> 
> So prior to writing this, I was surprised at how little Titanic AUs there are in this fandom. Naturally I decided to write one, because honestly it works so well for these characters and I wanted to read one so bad. I had a lot of fun writing! (And by fun, I mean pain.This little beauty is still ruining my life. I opened it to start editing and imminently fell apart after reading the first paragraph. Maybe you won't have that much of an emotional connection, but I hope you do. ;P ) 
> 
> I've been working on a soundtrack for this fic, and depending on if I actually get it done I'll link it up. For now, enjoy!

The port of Southampton is loud and boisterous. A sea of people stood in the road, mainly passengers and their loved ones making farewell wishes to one another. Each person held unique tasks of their own, bustling and moving quickly around as the town car tried to force its way through the crowd.

Spock peers out the window of the car with interest, watching as wives say goodbye to their husbands and members of the ship’s crew hurried to complete their duties and board the ship.

“Spock,” his father says, and Spock turns to look at him. “You are to behave yourself on this journey. I do not want any misgivings about your engagement. It is an honor to have T’Pring agree to marry you in such a precarious time for our family, and you will not squander this opportunity. Do I make myself clear?”

It didn’t seem like an honor to wed a woman who hated him, but Spock obediently bows his head and replies, “Yes, father.”

The car comes to a jolting stop. The driver opens the door and Sarek steps out first, followed quickly by Spock. The driver to the car just behind stops and opens that door as well, assisting T’Pring out. She is followed easily by Stonn, who starts to take her bags from the driver.

Though they were siblings, the only things similar were their facial features; Stonn is bulky and tall while T’Pring is petite and delicate. She straightens her hat and steps forward, offering her arm to Spock. He takes it, subtly glancing down at the turquoise amulet around her neck. It stood out as plain compared to the rest of her elegant dress, but she insisted on wearing it as a sign of Spock’s affection.

T’Pring sniffs, looking up at the ship, unimpressed. “I do not see what all the fuss is about,” she says. “It is just a boat.”

“The _Enterprise_ is more than a boat,” Spock responds, frowning. “It is one hundred times larger and more opulent than any other ship of its caliber.”

Sarek shoots him a sharp look. Spock bites the inside of his cheek.

“My sister is far too hard to impress,” Stonn says with dry humor. “They are saying it is unsinkable.”

T’Pring hums flatly and begins tugging at Spock’s arm toward the boarding ramp. “Be sure my maid has my coat,” she tosses over her shoulder.

Weaving their way through the crowd, Spock takes a fleeting look around port while he still can. As they walk onto the ramp and edge closer to the inside of the ship, he feels as though he is inching closer and closer to a prison.

His throat tightens as he steps up into the ship, his fate now sealed.

~

Harry Mudd is one of the foulest poker players on this side of the Atlantic. He beat Bones twice already, and even though Jim saw no evidence of it, his best friend kept accusing him of cheating.

“He’s gotta be doin’ something,” Bones grumbles into his glass of whiskey. “There’s no way in hell he had that good of a hand. You gotta beat him Jim.”

“I’ll beat him,” Jim assures him, eyeing the scoundrel across the bar table. “But I’m not playing him in poker.”

Bones gives him a confused look, but Jim is already up and grabbing the chess board from the bartender. When he brings it back over and starts to set it up, Mudd laughs.

“You think changing the game will change your luck?” he taunts. “I’ve already cleared out your friend, you got nothin’ left to bet with.”

“All or nothing, then,” Jim responds calmly.

Mudd smirks, then leans back casually in his seat. “I’ll raise you. All your friend lost, all my money, and two tickets to get on that ship.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder, pointing out the window at the ocean liner docked in the harbor. Jim’s eyebrows shoot up in interest as Mudd reaches into his pockets and produces two crumpled pieces of paper, then slaps them down on the table.

“Alright,” Jim says. “You’re on.”

Bones grabs at his shoulder and hisses frantically in his ear, “Kid, are you insane? You don’t have any money.”

“I never have any money,” Jim whispers back. “Besides, I think I can take him. He can’t cheat in chess.”

Bones heaves a sigh and shakes his head. “If I have to go crawlin’ back to Joycelyn after this, I’m never lettin’ you live this down.”

Jim rolls his eyes and shoves lightly at his shoulders. “Trust me, okay?” He turns back to Mudd. “You’re move.”

The game starts up. Even though Mudd can’t cheat, he makes quick and dirty moves that throw him for a loop. But Jim starts to play just as recklessly, throwing all strategy to the wind and taking each move one at a time. Bones makes little noises at his side every time he loses a piece, up to the point that Jim snags the whiskey out of his hand in punishment.

It goes on for about an hour before he realizes Mudd spent the entire time trying to take Jim’s pieces instead of protecting his king. It was recklessly out in the open, and Jim had put him in check without either of them realizing it.

“Bones,” Jim says seriously, “I’m sorry.”

Bones glances up at him and scowls. “Damn it, Jim, I knew you couldn’t—”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats louder, “but you’re not gonna have to see Joyce for a long time, cause we’re going to America.” He grins and moves his queen. “Checkmate!”

Mudd stares down at the board in disbelief.

“Holy shit!” Bones says, excitedly grabbing at Jim’s arm. “Holy shit!”

“We’re going home!” Jim cries, laughing and clutching at Bones while he frantically tries to scoop the money back into his coat pockets. “We’re finally leaving!”

“No lads,” the bartender calls. “The _Enterprise_ goes to America. In five minutes.”

Jim and Bones share a look of panic before Jim snatches the tickets and his bag off the floor. Bones scrambles to put as much money in his pockets as he can before grabbing his own bag.

“I want a rematch!” Mudd shouts.

“No take backs!” Jim calls as he shoulders his way out of the bar and onto the busy street. He weaves in out of the crowd, racing as fast as he can to get to the dock, grinning like a madman. “We’re riding in high style now, Bones! We’re practically royalty!”

“One shred of dumb luck and suddenly you think you’re God,” Bones says, running just behind him. “I hate this!”

Jim laughs and gets closer to the ship, searching wildly for the passenger loading. “Keep up, old man,” he taunts. “I’m the one with the tickets!”

“Insufferable brat,” Bones snaps. “No, that way!”

Jim turns and finds the third-class boarding ramp and dashes up it, Bones on his heels. The ramp is being pulled away from the ship but he calls, “Wait, wait!”

The attendant onboard the ship looks at them strangely when they reach him. “We’re passengers,” Jim pants, holding out the two tickets for him to see. “Look, look!”

The attendant eyes the tickets and then glances up warily. “Have you been through inspection?”

Jim nods frantically. “Of course.”

“We don’t have any lice, we’re American,” Bones adds.

The attendant hesitates, but steps back. “Alright, come aboard.”

Jim hops through the opening and Bones follows him on. The attendant closes the loading door behind them, and they tear down the hall away from him before he can question them further.

“We’re the luckiest sons of bitches in the world, you know that?” Jim tells him excitedly, grinning and shoving at his shoulders.

“Let’s find the cabin first, then play with fate,” Bones says, rolling his eyes. Jim nods and looks down at the tickets.

“I think it’s that way,” he mutters, glancing around the hall to find a direction sign. “C’mon.”

Shouldering his bag, Jim steps through the hall and looks for the correct number of the cabin. They eventually find it—it’s cramped and has two beds, but it’s got a porthole and a view.

“I’m going up,” Jim says, tossing his bag down on one of the beds.

“Hang on, let me go with you,” Bones says, setting his own bag down. “I’m not getting lost on this damn thing on the first day.”

They head back out into the hall and go up multiple flights of stairs until they reach an open deck. Jim immediately goes to the front of the bow and climbs up on the rail.

“Christ, kid, don’t fall two minutes into the voyage,” Bones warns. “If you go overboard, I’m not swimmin’ after you.”

Jim grins and throws his arms out. “I’m not gonna fall, Bones! I’m king of the world!”

Bones rolls his eyes but smiles fondly. “Alright, well when you’re done bein’ ridiculous I’ll be over here.” He moves away to the other side of the deck. Jim stays on the rail a little longer, closing his eyes and letting the feel of the wind and sun wash over him. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the sharp smell of saltwater before opening his eyes and smiling brighter than before.

After a bit, he steps down and heads back over to where Bones is sitting on a bench. Bones glances up at him and raises an eyebrow.

“Have fun?” Bones teases. Jim opens his mouth to answer him, but the words die in his throat when he catches sight of something that causes his heart to stutter.

A man dressed in an elegant gray suit steps out onto the balcony above them. His jaw is sharp and his black hair is cut in a bowl style. He is looking pensively off into the distance as the ship departs, but his eyes flicker over to Jim.

“Hey,” Bones says, waving a hand in front of his face. “What are you—” Bones follows his gaze and groans. “ _Jim_.”

But Jim can’t look away, held in place by the man’s dark eyes. A second later, an older man comes out onto the balcony behind him and says something, then ushers the younger back inside.

“You’d be more likely to grow wings and learn how to fly than get close to him,” Bones tells him.

Jim tosses him a smile and says, “Well, maybe all I need is a running start.”

Bones shakes his head and chuckles. “Keep dreamin’, kid.”

~

As the servants bring their suitcases and boxes into their suite, Spock starts to unpack. T’Pring’s maid carries in her clothes and asks if she would like to organize things, but T’Pring waves her off. She settles in an armchair and pours herself a glass of champagne, watching Spock pull paintings from their cases.

“I do not know why you would pack such mediocre work to bring to our wedding,” she says eventually.

“I did not bring them,” Spock points out. “They were engagement gifts. To leave them behind would be rude.”

“Not much can be said about the taste, though.” Her fingers toy with the diamond chain around her neck before she snaps her fingers to catch her maid’s attention. “Get this off me.”

The maid nods and hurries behind her, unclasping the jewel. Spock eyes her evenly, careful not to let his distaste show.

“Please be gentle with it,” he begs softly. “It was my mother’s.”

“And now it is mine,” T’Pring tosses back. She looks at the necklace with distaste before handing it to her maid. “I have never seen a diamond so plain.”

Spock feels irritation prickle at him. “It is a Vokaya,” he tells her, but she waves her hand around to silence him.

“It does not matter,” she says, taking a sip from her champagne. “We will soon have much more glamorous possessions in Philadelphia.”

Spock’s lips form a flat line, and he turns back to the paintings. They were stroked with water color, each one with an assorted palette. They held the pure and raw emotion the artist was feeling, following no course of logic.

It was a fascinating concept.

The rest of the afternoon goes on like this. Spock is unpacking the chessboard when his father and Stonn step back into the room. T’Pring brightens, delicately setting down her glass on the table.

“Did the captain agree?” she asks. “Will we be dining with him?”

Sarek shakes his head. “Captain Pike holds a profound sense of duty and refused to be taken away from his station while on duty. However, the ship’s designer and conceptor will be joining us.”

“Then I should get dressed,” T’Pring says, smiling in satisfaction. She rises and heads into one of the bedrooms, her maid following quickly behind.

Spock goes into his own bedroom and begins to dress himself for the evening, trying not to think of how in a matter of days he would no longer be able to retire to his own room. He would soon have to share everything—his room, his home, his _life_ —with a woman who would soon become his wife.

He tries to hold back a shiver, but doesn’t quite stop the chills from breaking out across his skin.

When it is time, they head out onto the private promenade deck to a table with two other men already seated there. They rise as T’Pring approaches; she looks even more satisfied than before at the courtesy.

Spock barely holds himself back from rolling his eyes.

The ship’s conceptor was a white-haired man named James Komack who looked entirely too smug for Spock’s liking. The head designer and builder was a charming man named Montgomery Scott, who had a much kinder demeanor than his companion.

“The _Enterprise_ is the largest moving object ever made by the hands of man,” Mr. Komack boasts early into the meal. “Our master builder Mister Scott put her together from the keel plates up.”

“Well,” Mr. Scott admitted with humor, “I might ‘ave knocked her together, but Mister Komack was the one who brought the idea ta light. This beauty’s strength and speed could never be challenged.”

“An engineering marvel,” Sarek agrees politely. “Your work has outdone itself, Mister Scott.”

“Ah,” the Scotsman says, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I had some help here and there.”

“Who thought of the name _Enterprise_?” Spock asks. “I read about the ship’s construction in the papers, but I could not find any information about the origin of the name.”

“I did,” Mr. Komack says, tilting his chin up proudly. “I wanted to convey size, as well as stability, luxury, and above all, strength.”

Spock’s lips quirk up dryly. “Are you familiar with the work of Doctor Freud, Mister Komack? His ideas of the male preoccupation with size might interest you.”

Stonn snickers and Sarek’s eyes snap over to him. At his side, T’Pring huffs softly. “It seems my fiancé reads too much for his own good.” She digs the heel of her shoe into Spock’s toes under the table. Spock clenches his jaw in pain, but doesn’t wince.

“Ah, let the lad read all he wants,” Mr. Scott says good-naturedly. “There’s nothin’ wrong with a little poke ‘o fun, now is there, James?”

Mr. Komack narrows his eyes. He clears his throat loudly, putting down his napkin and rising from the table. “If you gentleman would excuse me, I have other business to attend to.” He nods at T’Pring. “Ma’am.”

As Mr. Komack leaves, Spock turns back to the engineer. “Mister Scott, I have looked around the ship’s deck and completed some calculations of my own, and I have found that there are significantly less lifeboats on this ship than listed capacity of passengers.”

Mr. Scott’s eye twitches, like a barely held back grimace. “Aye, right ye are again, Mister Spock. There are not enough lifeboats aboard.”

Spock’s eyes widen. “But is that is sure to lead to disaster if—”

“The _Enterprise_ is unsinkable,” Sarek interrupts firmly. “I am sure Mister Scott was aware of the number of lifeboats when constructing the vessel.”

“I was instructed ta limit the number of boats ta make the decks less cluttered,” Mr. Scott admits. “But don’t ye worry. The _Enterprise_ has multiple flood compartments with water-tight doors. Even if she did hit somethin’, she would stay afloat.” He smiles gently. “She’s strong and true, built by Scottish hands. No better engineering around!”

“Indeed,” Sarek says levelly.

Spock does not speak for the rest of dinner. He is wise enough not to challenge his father’s patience again. After they are finished being served, Mr. Scott suggests meeting up with the captain in his lounge.

“He should be off duty by now. I’m sure Pike could stand for a good brandy and cigar,” Mr. Scott says. “He overworks himself, that one.”

Sarek nods. “A favorable suggestion, Mister Scott.”

They all rise and head for the door, but before they can get far T’Pring clears her throat delicately. “If you gentlemen would not mind,” she says, “I would like to speak with my fiancé alone.”

Spock feels his chest tighten at the very idea. Mr. Scott snorts and elbows Spock in the ribs, shooting a wink at him.

“We’ll be in ta captain’s lounge, laddie. Come whenever you’re finished bein’ a newlywed,” Mr. Scott tells him with good humor. Then, he claps a hand on Stonn’s shoulder and steers him and Sarek out of the room.

The walls feel ten times closer now that he is alone on the deck with her. Spock forces himself to take a breath, turning around and watching as T’Pring smiles gently at him.

“You look quite lovely in blue,” she murmurs, stepping closer and putting her hands gently on Spock’s shoulders. She pushes lightly, and Spock falls easily down into the chair, his legs giving out underneath him.

“You have told me that often before,” Spock replies, his throat constricting.

T’Pring tilts her head, her hands like weights on his shoulders. “Won’t you tell me I look beautiful too?”

“You look beautiful,” Spock repeats hollowly.

She smiles at him oddly, like she did not quite understand his thoughts. She raises a delicate hand and traces it up his shoulder and neck, cupping his cheek. “Spock,” she all but purrs, “we are to be wed soon.”

“I—” He stutters as she sits down in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, chaining him in. “I am aware.”

She wraps her hand around the base of his skull, leaning her head down to press a soft kiss against his throat. “Do you not find me pleasing?” she murmurs, her voice thick and sticky like honey.

Spock sucks in a breath. The smell of her perfume clogs his senses. He knows what she wants—how he was supposed to react when a woman touched him like this—but only acid boils up from his stomach.

“I do,” Spock says roughly, the lie grading past his teeth like sandpaper. His hands remain firmly down at his sides instead of wrapping around her.

T’Pring trails her nose across the underside of his jaw. “Where has your mind gone, my dear? Why are you so distracted?” She sighs softly, her breath chilling and causing goosebumps to rise on his flesh. “Let me in to your mind.”

She pulls back enough to grasp his face between both of her tiny hands. Spock leans as far back as he can when she moves in to kiss him, finally raising his hands to push gently at her shoulders.

“T’Pring,” Spock rumbles, “while we are engaged, we are not yet married. It would be…indecent to act upon a bond that has not yet been formed.”

Her lips pull down in a frown and she tilts her head again, looking at him as if he is an odd specimen of man she has never seen before. Spock swallows.

She lets out a small breath. “You are correct,” she says, leaning away. “You have such high morals, Spock. How gallant of you.”

Spock clenches his jaw and grits out, “Thank you.”

T’Pring laughs once, the tone harsh and grading. She unwraps herself from him and stands. “Go on,” she instructs. “Go and have your manly times with the captain.”

Spock stands quickly, fighting against the trembling in his knees. She raises her hand in an offering and he takes it, brushing his lips across the back like he knew he was supposed to, before slipping out into the hall.

His resolve breaks. He clenches his eyes shut, feeling as if the ceiling and the wall switches places. His skin is still chilled, the feel of her body burning into him in such a way that felt so… _wrong_. He could offer excuses now, could make lame reasons why he could not be with her, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter. He is her betrothed, and he couldn’t hide forever.

Soon, T’Pring would realize the truth: that Spock desired not to be with her, or any woman. That he is a disgrace, an abomination. And the second she did, his family would be shamed forever.

Spock clenches his shaking hands at his side and swallows thickly. Before he realizes what he is doing, he starts walking. He passes out the doors onto the open deck, the cool air of the night stinging on his face. It was nothing compared to the turmoil inside of him, fear and anxiety and pain rising and falling together in a crescendo to match the ocean waves below.

Suddenly, Spock is struck with an idea.

He refuses to run, because causing a scene would be considered undignified. Instead he strides to the back of the ship with purpose, the emotion inside him bubbling up in his chest uncontrollably and demanding to be released. Once he reaches the edge of the deck, he shakily grabs the safety rail and peers down into the black water below. Before he can think further, Spock hoists himself up over the rail onto the other side, holding himself back from falling by the barest of margins.

It would be called an accident. He would have been walking too close to the edge and simply slipped overboard. His family would grieve for the appropriate amount of time, but then carry on like always.

The water looked so peaceful. It reflected the lights of the stars and the ship, casting an eerie glow on the surface. Spock sways forward, wanting nothing more than to discover that light for himself. To let go, both literally and figuratively.

“Hey,” a voice from behind him says. “Don’t—don’t do that.”

Startled, Spock whirls around to see a scruffy blonde man standing roughly ten feet away from the edge. His only witness, it seems.

“Give me your hand,” the stranger says, extending his arm gently and taking a step forward. “I’ll pull you back over.”

Spock’s brain kicks back in and he shakes his head. “Do not step any closer,” he bites out, trying to ignore the way his voice shakes. “This does not concern you.”

One side of the stranger’s mouth quirks up bitterly. “The handsomest guy I’ve ever seen is about to jump off the back of a moving ocean liner,” he jokes. “That seems pretty concerning to me.”

Frustration swells in Spock’s chest. “Go away,” he hisses. “You cannot persuade me to change my mind, my decision has already been made.”

“Then how come you’re still talking to me?”

Spock opens his mouth to retort, but then snaps it shut. He turns away from the man and stares back down at the water below. It looks less peaceful now, more like a vision of swirling black madness. It makes Spock dizzy.

The stranger speaks again. “You won’t.”

Spock’s head whips around. “I beg your pardon?”

The man has inched closer, now only about two feet away from the rail. His hands are placed almost casually inside of his jacket pockets as he says, “You won’t jump. If you were so set on it, you would have done it already.”

Spock glares at him. “Do not presume to know what I will or will not do. You do not know me.”

At that, the stranger shrugs. “That’s true. I guess I’m just hoping you won’t jump. Because if you do,”—he starts to shrug off his thick coat, revealing broad shoulders underneath—“I’m gonna have to go in after you.”

“I—” Spock stares at him dumbly. “No, you do not.”

“Yeah, I do,” he says earnestly, nodding and bending to take off his boots. “I’m involved now, see? I’ve talked to you. How will I ever live the rest of my life knowing I could have prevented someone from committing suicide? That’s not something that’ll stick well on my conscience.”

“That is not my problem,” Spock says coolly, raising his chin. “Now leave me. Your presence is distracting.”

Spock turns back to the water, and for a moment he thinks the stranger left before he hears him speak again.

“You ever been to Iowa?”

Spock blinks, turning to stare at the man, flabbergasted. “ _What?_ ”

“Iowa,” the man repeats. He is much closer now, leaning against the rail almost causally to talk to Spock as if he wasn’t just about to jump off the edge. “It’s in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but cornfields there—you don’t look like you’re from the Midwest.”

Spock blinks again. “I hardly see how my upbringing is relevant to this situation.”

“I grew up there,” the stranger says in explanation. “It gets some of the worst winters. My mom would take my brother and I to go ice fishing down the river every winter when I was a kid. So one time, Sam and I did it by ourselves—we were too young to be doing it alone, but we were stupid—and I walked across some thin ice, and…” He shrugs. “I fell in. The water was freezing, but river water is probably nothing compared to how cold the water down there is.”

Spock glances down at the ocean again. His frustration and panic starts to fade into a new kind of unease. “How cold was the river?” he finds himself asking.

“It felt like a thousand knives piercing my skin all at once,” he admits softly. “I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think…All I could do was open my mouth to scream, but then I was sucking in water. My brother pulled me out and I had hypothermia for a week. But that was just water from a Midwest winter. Water from the Atlantic, this time of year? It’s gotta be at least ten times colder.”

Doubt begins to trickle down Spock’s spine.

“That’s why I’m not looking forward to going in after you,” the man concludes. “But I am. You jump, I jump. Unless you decide to come back over the edge.”

Spock bites his lip and slides his gaze to the stranger. He extends one arm, just close enough for Spock to reach but far enough not to be taken as a threat.

“C’mon,” he urges gently. “Take my hand. You don’t want to do this.”

“You are incorrigible,” Spock tells him, but grasps the man’s hand and slowly turns around. He has one hand still wrapped tightly around the railing and the other clasped in the stranger’s grip.

The stranger’s face breaks out into a smile, so bright it rivals the stars above them. “Got you to turn around, didn’t I?” He readjusts his grip onto Spock’s arm. “Now step up like that—I’m Jim Kirk, by the way.”

“I am S’chn T’gai Spock,” Spock answers, swinging one leg over the railing. The stranger—no, Jim—laughs.

“Is that European or something?” he jokes. “I might need to write that down.”

Spock does not acknowledge his joke, also choosing to ignore how the sound of his laugh makes him feel even dizzier than before. Spock blames it on the near-death experience—unfortunately, his brief lapse in concentration causes him to slip. He loses his footing and topples over the railing, hands shooting out to grab at Jim’s shoulders. Jim yelps in surprise and they both collapse on the deck, their foreheads smacking together.

“Damn it,” Jim curses, wincing and rubbing at his head. “Sorry, I—”

“Hey!” another voice shouts, and a security officer rushes over. “What’s going on?”

Spock frowns, only then realizing how this must look: Jim with his tattered clothes half off, sitting on top of a clearly rumpled and disoriented member of higher class.

Above him, Jim sighs. “Shit.”

~

It’s not the first time Jim has gotten handcuffed, and it probably won’t be the last. The thing that makes it shitty, though, is this time he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He saved that Spock guy from jumping off the edge of the boat, for Christssake. He shouldn’t be in the wrong here.

But no matter what he says, the officer won’t listen. Another surprise. He tries to get Spock to vouch for him, but he hasn’t spoken a word, his face carefully blank and closed off.

“Already told you, I wasn’t—”

“Spock!”

A petite woman with high cheekbones and braided hair and an older man approach them, both of them just as elegantly dressed as Spock. The older man breezes past Jim and goes right to the security officer.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice low and flat but somehow still chilling.

“This piece of scum was caught assaulting your son, sir,” the officer says, shooting Jim a dirty look.

“For the last time, I wasn’t assaulting _anybody!_ ” Jim snaps. “I fell—”

“Right,” the officer sneers. “Bet you were just gonna fall into his pants, too.”

The older man clears his throat, and the officer looks around him and notices the woman for the first time. He flushes and tips his hat, mumbling an apology.

But the woman doesn’t seem bothered. She latches on Spock’s arm, holding it tight in her grip. Spock stiffens-not-so-subtly at the contact, standing impossibly straighter.

“It should not have happened at all,” the older man says, his voice challenging. “Spock was supposed to be going to the captain’s lounge.”

“You got distracted again, didn’t you?” the woman coos, sounding pitying. She turns to the officer, speaking as if Spock was not there. “It occurs quite frequently. Spock has a mind that wanders.”

“I was not distracted,” Spock snaps, looking up for first time. “I—” He cuts off, glancing around almost frantically once before stubbornly training his eyes back down on the deck. His jaw works as he says flatly, “I was intrigued by the ship’s mechanics.”

“Mechanics?” Jim and the woman repeat together.

“Mister Scott’s description of the ship was helpful, but I wished to investigate on my own,” Spock continues hurriedly. “I was observing the propellers when I leaned too far over the edge of the railing. Mister Kirk was fortunate enough to be in the same vicinity and caught me before I fell.”

Spock’s eyes lock on Jim’s. Underneath the collected surface, it is easy to see he is shaken and anxious for some reason. Never one to tattle, Jim plays along.

“Yeah,” Jim agrees quickly. “That’s exactly how it happened.”

The older man looks at Jim with suspicion. “How very fortunate.”

“Sarek,” the woman says, “there is no point of pursuing it further. Spock and I can speak alone about the matter.” Her grips seems to tighten around his arm. Spock looks like he just sucked on a lemon, but he doesn’t move away.

“Very well,” the guy named Sarek says, still eyeing Jim as if he was a roach. “Thank you for saving my son, Mister...”

“Kirk,” Jim supplies breezily. “Your welcome. Now can you let me out of these things, Cupcake?”

The officer huffs but does it. Jim shoots him a sneer in response.

“Come, darling,” the woman says, pulling on Spock’s arm. “Let us retire for the night.”

Spock shoots one glance over his shoulder at Jim, then disappears inside the ship along with the woman and Sarek. Jim waits a few heartbeats before tearing down the decks of the ship to get to his own cabin.

“Bones!” Jim cries, throwing open the door. “I talked to him!”

Bones, who was asleep, groggily raises his head and rubs at his eyes. “Wu—what?”

“That guy!” Jim continues, bustling in and flipping on the light. “The guy I saw earlier, this morning on the deck. He tried to jump off the ship.”

Bones seems a little more awake at that. “What?”

Jim sits on the edge of the bed across from him. “He tried jumping off the ship,” he repeats. “I stopped him.”

“Bully for you,” Bones mutters, putting his face down in the pillow.

“I also got arrested,” Jim adds.

“Goddamn it, Jim,” Bones groans, shooting a side glare at him. “Can’t you go one week without getting arrested?”

Jim cracks a grin. “Apparently not.” His smile softens as he thinks of the way the moonlight reflected off Spock’s dark hair.

“Hey now,” Bones says, sitting up and wagging a finger. “Don’t you start making those goo-goo eyes. You can’t fall in love with him. You know that, right?”

Jim rolls his eyes and starts unlacing his boots. “I’m not falling in love,” he counters. “I just think he’s handsome, is all.”

“Mmm,” Bones hums. “Handsome and richer than God. You won’t be able to get anywhere near him come morning.” Jim stops, realizing that Bones was right. “And don’t you go lookin’ for him, either. If you get arrested for real it’ll be a bitch to go through customs when we get to port.”

“Okay, okay,” Jim gives in, raising his right hand. “I won’t go looking for him tomorrow. I promise.”

Bones grumbles under his breath and turns his face back to his pillow. Jim uncrosses his fingers from his left hand, and finishes unlacing his boots. He flicks the light off, lying down on top of the thin sheets of the cot. He closes his eyes and thinks of Spock’s mysterious dark eyes, drifting to sleep with the gentle rocking of the ocean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2! This was easily the most fun I've had writing in a while. Especially the Irish Party scenes ;) (Also, I know that Sinatra wasn't around during the same era of the Titanic, but I dare you to tell me Jim never sings to Spock. I dare you.)

The night and morning had been unpleasant, to say the least. T’Pring was insufferable, questioning him on every detail from why he had not immediately gone to the captain’s lounge to what Jim’s first words were to him. Spock quickly formulated a false story and stuck to it, no matter how probing her questions got. Eventually she lost interest when they had to be split in the early afternoon for separate lunch engagements.

“I worry only for your safety,” T’Pring had commented. “You get such strange and abnormal thoughts in your head. It is unbecoming for he who is to be my husband.”

When he gave up his will to jump, he also gave up his determination to fight. Spock lost his chance to escape. He would be forced to marry her as soon as the ship docked.

He tries not to think of such things as he makes his way to Mr. Scott’s office, passing through the open decks and breathing in the scent of salt water on the air. The water seems peaceful compared to the turmoil it was in last night. But last night he was weak, only to be conveniently saved by—

“Spock!”

He turns to find none other than the same man who saved him last night waving and trotting across the deck over to him. Spock stiffens, glancing around nervously for any sign of his father. Being seen with Jim once was a coincidence. Being seen with him more than once would raise suspicion.

“Hey,” Jim says, smiling when he reaches him. “Fancy seeing you here. It’s like we’re on the same boat or something. I recognize those bangs anywhere.”

Spock inclines his head and says politely, “Mister Kirk.”

“Jim,” he corrects. “Call me Jim.”

“That would be improper, as we are not friends,” Spock tells him. Jim’s face flashes with confusion.

“We’re not friends? C’mon, I think after all the stuff we went through last night means I’m at least a little more than an acquaintance.”

Spock nearly cringes, glancing around nervously again. “I would appreciate your discretion on the matter. My actions were…” He pauses, then echoes T’Pring, “unbecoming. I was acting out of character and it was foolish of me to put myself in such a situation.”

Jim tilts his head sympathetically, his swooping blonde hair falling across his forehead in a way that reflects gold in the sun. “I think hanging off the edge of a ship was pretty _becoming_ , if a guy like you was driven to that point.”

Spock stares at him for a moment, suddenly very aware of the open surroundings and the people walking past him. He should not be speaking to this man. Not about _this_ —not publicly.

“I am afraid I am indisposed,” Spock says instead, hoping Jim will get the hint. “I have a lunch appointment, I will leave you to your…excursions.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Jim says, and before Spock can protest he falls into step with him. “I’m sorry if I got you in trouble. That man, Sarek. Is he your dad?”

“Yes,” Spock answers.

“And that woman—you’re sister?”

Spock nearly laughs bitterly at the irony. “My fiancé.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot past his messy hairline. “You’re engaged?” It’s almost comical how much his expression has changed.

“Not willingly,” Spock mutters under his breath, hoping it was too quiet for Jim to hear. But Jim catches on, and he frowns.

“What d’you mean, not willingly?” Jim questions, but they have reached the door that leads to Mr. Scott’s office. Spock is about to tell Jim to leave when Mr. Scott comes out of the door, rolls of blueprints piled in his arms.

“Spock,” he says in surprise. “Oh, I forgot—I’ll have ta cancel on ye. One of ‘t engines needs some extra elbow grease, so they’re callin’ in ‘t experts.” He shoots a wink at him, then glances to the side at Jim. “Looks like ye already got other plans. I’ll follow up later.”

Mr. Scott breezes past them and heads down a stairwell. Spock blinks, then turns to Jim. Jim is grinning.

“Looks like your schedule cleared up,” he says lightly.

“That does not mean I am obliged to spend my free time with you,” Spock points out.

“Yeah,” Jim acknowledges, “but I am kind of the only reason you’re standing here right now. So, I think you owe me at least an hour to talk.”

Spock could easily protest, but there are worst things than taking an hour out of his time to talk to Jim. Including going back to the cabin and eating with T’Pring.

“Very well,” Spock agrees, stepping back out onto the open deck. “One hour.”

“Great,” Jim chirps. “Now, about that woman.”

“I would prefer not to speak about that topic,” Spock says coolly, perhaps a bit desperately.

“You don’t love her?” Jim guesses, easily matching his strides to Spock’s.

“That is a very rude and abrasive assumption,” he dodges carefully. Then, he switches the subject. “Why were you out on the deck last night?”

Jim smiles again, slowing his pace. “I like looking at the stars. There’s no view like the one at sea, not even in the Midwest.”

“Iowa,” Spock remembers.

Jim nods. “Yep, born and raised. Now come on, you can’t avoid _all_ my questions. I’m answering all of yours.”

“I am not avoiding anything,” Spock argues, but Jim raises a challenging eyebrow. Spock purses his lips and turns his attention back to the deck.

“What about where you’re from?” Jim asks. “That’s easy enough, right?”

“My family is from the Netherlands. My father believes we have roots trailing back to a royal line, though I am unsure if that holds any merit.”

“You’re Dutch?” Spock nods. “That explains the unpronounceable name. But you don’t have an accent.”

“My mother was American,” he explains. “I have been able to speak multiple languages my entire life. I learned French and Swedish as well during my time at Oxford.”

“Oxford?” Jim repeats, sounding impressed. “You barely look older than twenty—you must be a genius to get in there so fast.”

Spock’s lip quirks up dryly. “I am one of their youngest and most prestigious graduates, though during my time enrolled I was considered a nuisance.”

He has no idea why he’s telling Jim this. It was not as if Jim would care or hold any interest in his life—he was a just another man on a ship full of strangers, but for some reason Spock feels as though he genuinely wants to know.

Jim smirks at him. “Did you pull a bunch of pranks that got you in trouble? Bet they didn’t teach you that in etiquette class.”

Spock gives him a flat look. “Pranking is hardly a show of good form,” he says, nearly rolling his eyes. “I had disputes with my instructors, so much so that I got removed from several courses.”

“You argued with the professors?” Jim says, looking happily surprised for some reason. “That’s hilarious! Why?”

Spock feels a small rush of pride at Jim’s approval. “I did not believe they were as knowledgeable as they should have been for their areas of study.”

“So, when that woman said your mind wanders…” Jim begins, waving his hand in the air in a circular motion. “You’re too smart and get bored easily.”

“In a sense.”

He nods. “Me too. I got into a lot of trouble back home because of how reckless I got when I ran out of stuff to do. What did you study?”

“The sciences.”

“Like medicine?”

“Chemistry,” Spock clarifies. “And physics.”

Jim chuckles. “Handsome and brilliant. I bet women are crawling all over you.”

Spock’s next step falters as heat rushes uncomfortably under his skin. His mind flashes back to last night, when T’Pring had dropped into his lap and brushed her hands over his neck and face. He shoves the memory away and clears his throat.

“Where have you studied, Mister Kirk?”

Jim blinks. “I haven’t studied anywhere. Well, beside standard schooling, I guess. Iowa doesn’t really offer much in that department, and I’d never be able to afford it anyway.”

Spock is surprised. “You do not appear to be undereducated.”

Jim laughs bitterly. “Is that a complement or an insult?”

“I meant no offense—”

“No, no,” Jim shakes his head, still smiling. “You’re alright. I just kind of learn as I go. My dad owned a mechanic shop, and when he passed away my mom took it over. She taught my brother and I how to be handy, and when my brother left for New York I started adventuring out on my own. Getting in to trouble, y’know, learning and taking risks by myself.”

“I lost my mother as well,” Spock tells him softly. “Are you intending to meet with your brother when the ship docks in America?”

Half of Jim’s mouth quirks up in a sardonic smirk. “I wasn’t exactly planning on going to New York. It kind of just happened by chance.”

He stops walking and leans up against the ship’s rail on his elbows, gazing out to the sea. Spock stops as well and frowns.

“How did you board an ocean liner by chance?” Spock asks. Jim lets out a peaceful sigh, his eyes still trained on the water beyond.

“Luck,” Jim says simply.

“There is no such thing as luck, Mister Kirk.”

“Jim,” he corrects, and turns back to Spock. “And it was lucky I caught you just before you jumped, wasn’t it?”

Spock says nothing in return, pulling his eyes away from Jim’s intense gaze. They both stand in silence for a moment before Jim abruptly speaks again.

“If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?”

Spock considers this, his lips pursing. His immediate thought is _anywhere but this ship_ , but he can hardly admit that out loud. Instead, he shrugs. Jim’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You don’t know?” Jim asks, shocked. “Not one place? Well, I can tell you mine. San Francisco, California.”

“Why there?” Spock asks.

Jim’s eyes soften, gazing out onto the water as if caught up in a memory. “That’s where my parents met. I used to hear stories about that place all the time—the sun, the beach, the city—all of it sounds so much better than Iowa. They’ve got the best pier, with roller coasters and a ferris wheel and everything.” He chuckles once. “Sam and I used to dream about riding them all until we threw up.”

“That sounds intriguing,” Spock admits.

“Let’s go, then,” Jim replies easily, turning back to him. “When the boat docks, let’s take a road trip and go.” He looks so hopeful, his blue eyes sparkling and filled with promise.

Cold reality slaps Spock in the face. He was losing himself too easily, talking to this man he barely knew. He stands straighter and steps away from the rail, his jaw clenching. “I cannot.”

“Why not?” Jim asks, tiling his head. “Is it because of your fiancé?”

Spock shakes his head and quickly takes another step back. “Mister Kirk, I thank you for your time but I am afraid our conversation must cease at this juncture.”

“What?” Jim frowns, following Spock away from the rail. “Why? Because I mentioned that girl?”

“No,” Spock says briskly. “Because our hour has ceased.”

Jim scowls at him. “It hasn’t been an hour, Spock—”

“Then I must cut it short.”

“You’re running away,” Jim deduces. “You’re scared.”

Spock stops and narrows his eyes. “I am not afraid, Mister Kirk.”

“Yes, you are,” Jim says with dangerous accuracy. “You keep changing the subject whenever I talk about her. You don’t want to admit to yourself that you’re actually getting married. You don’t love her.”

He opens his mouth to retort, then closes it. Jim smirks, as if proud knowing he just rendered Spock speechless. It’s infuriating.

“What I feel is irrelevant,” Spock tells him eventually. “I am to be wed to T’Pring, regardless of my desires or personal preferences.”

“They’re forcing you to marry her?” Jim asks, suddenly alarmed.

“Forcing perhaps not an accurate term—”

“Wait, hold on,” Jim says, raising his hands, his face looking as if his mind is turning a thousand miles a minute. “What personal preferences?”

Spock goes very still. He refuses to look at Jim, staring off just over his shoulder. He had not intended to admit that to anyone, and yet he had inadvertently done so to a stranger.

“Are you sly or something?”

Spock clenches his eyes shut and lets out a hiss of breath. He fights back a flush of shame and bile that rises in his throat.

“Mister Kirk, I would once again appreciate your discretion on this matter.”

He jolts when a hand gently touches his arm. He opens his eyes to find Jim standing much closer, too close, his smile tender and kind.

“Look, Spock,” Jim says gently, “I don’t know anything about what might be proper in your world, but in mine, no one cares about that sort of thing. You can’t be expected to control who you fall in love with. Besides,” he shrugs, “I am too, and no one treats me any differently. And it’s Jim, not Mister Kirk.”

Spock feels his mouth fall open, his face flushing in a different kind of way. But before he can make his tongue move, a voice calls out from behind them.

“Spock!”

He tears away from Jim so fast it must have looked comical. Now with an exaggerated distance between them, Spock turns to find T’Pring on the arm of Stonn, approaching easily in step with one another. They must have finished lunch early. Anxiety curls in his stomach, and Spock wants nothing more than to turn and flee at getting caught.

“Darling,” T’Pring croons, her face soft but her voice cold. “I thought you were visiting with Mister Scott for the hour.” Her eyes drift over to Jim. “Hello again, Mister Kirk.”

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Jim greets.

T’Pring looks back at Spock, and she raises an expectant eyebrow. “Mister Scott canceled our plans,” Spock explains, keeping his voice as neutral and flat as possible. “I came across Mister Kirk on the deck and was thanking him again for his heroic efforts last night.”

T’Pring hums softly. “You did act valiantly,” she admits, but her expression is one of distaste. “My fiancé can lose himself easily, as I am sure you can tell.”

Jim’s eyes narrow a fraction but he smiles. “It was no problem, really. I was just in the right place at the right time.”

“And yet we have not offered a proper retribution,” Stonn says. “Perhaps we should invite Mister Kirk to dinner?”

Spock’s eyes dart between Stonn and T’Pring. They share a patronizing glance and Spock hastily starts to say, “I am sure that is unnecessary—”

“Do not be rude, Spock,” T’Pring snaps. Spock clamps his mouth shut and clenches his fists behind his back. “Would you like to join us for dinner, Mister Kirk?”

Jim looks puzzled, as if he knew there was an underlying joke but couldn’t figure out what it was. “Um, sure,” he answers. It sounds like a question.

T’Pring smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Wonderful. We will see you this evening.”

“ _If they even let a dog like him past the third deck_ ,” Stonn murmurs in Dutch, and T’Pring trills quietly. She reaches out her other arm to Spock expectantly.

Spock spares one last desperate glance at Jim before taking it obediently. They start to step away across the deck, Spock’s mind already whirling on how to prepare for tonight.

~

Hours later, when Jim returns to his cabin just before he’s supposed to head up to first class, he starts to get nervous. When Bones asks what’s wrong, he explains the situation, and Bones is flabbergasted.

“They invited you to dinner?” he asks in disbelief. “And you _agreed_?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Jim says, running his fingers through his hair. “I couldn’t say no right in their faces. Besides, I think Spock wanted me to say yes.”

“Do you realize you’re about to go willingly down into the snake pit?”

“Am not. And quit with the metaphors!”

Bones shakes his head. “Jim, you sure you’re not exaggeratin’ him a little bit? Like, he only does what you want him to because that’s how you see it in your head?”

Jim rolls his eyes and flops down on his cot. “He’s _different_ , Bones. It’s hard to describe.”

“Bet it is,” Bones mutters under his breath, going back to shuffling the deck of cards in his hands. He’s been trying to replicate Mudd’s tricks for hours. “You’re gettin’ all chummy with the rich people while I’m tryin’ not to get eaten by the rats.”

Jim rolls over and sticks out his tongue at him. Bones flips him off. Then, a noise that surprises them both causes them to freeze. Seconds later, the sound comes again, and Jim realizes it’s someone knocking on the cabin door.

Jumping up from the cot, Jim swings open the door and nearly jumps back in surprise. “Spock? How did you find me? What are you doing here?”

“I do not have much time,” Spock says quickly, stepping into the tiny cabin. He’s wearing the same tweed suit he had on earlier this afternoon, but his tie is a much looser, like he had been tugging on it nervously. He has a large wrapped bundle in his arms. “You have little under two hours before you will be expected to meet for dinner. I cannot be gone for long, as my father believes I am with T’Pring and T’Pring believes I am with my father.”

He runs his dark eyes up and down Jim once, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows. “Are you planning on wearing that?”

Jim abruptly feels self-conscious in his old shirt and suspenders. “Uh, I guess?” He hadn’t thought about changing clothes—not that he had any to change into that were better than what he was wearing. He’s suddenly painfully aware of how incredibly underdressed he is compared to Spock.

“I presumed as much,” Spock says, nodding. He pushes past Jim to the empty bed and lays down the bundle, carefully unraveling the fabric to reveal one of the most luxurious tuxedos Jim has ever seen.

“Holy shit,” Jim breathes. From the other bed, Bones lets out a low whistle.

“The fit may be tight around your shoulders and waistline, as you are slightly broader than I,” Spock continues, holding up a jacket to Jim’s chest. “Nothing could be tailored as to raise suspicion, so one of mine will have to do.”

“Wait,” Jim says, gingerly raising his hand to push down the fabric but is suddenly afraid to touch it. “You’re giving me your suit?”

“Borrowing,” Spock clarifies. “I will be wearing another.”

“As noble as this, I can’t take it,” Jim refutes. “I’d stand out like sore thumb.”

“Tuxedos of this style are standard evening attire,” Spock tells him. “If you do not wear one, you will likely not be allowed into the galleria.”

Jim shakes his head, feeling more stuck than before. “I can’t.” _I don’t belong up there_ , he wants to say.

Spock pauses, his posture going stiff. “Do you wish to decline your invitation?” His voice is steady but Jim can hear the thinly veiled disappointment.

“No,” he says quickly. “No, that’s not it—” He flounders for a moment before asking something else. “Why are you helping me?”

Spock’s lips form a thin line. “T’Pring is shallow and petty. She ridicules others for her own enjoyment, and she hopes to make a mockery of you tonight. I do not intend for you to fall victim to her games. That is why you must come prepared.”

From behind him, Bones sing-songs, “Snake pit!”

Spock turns, as if just now noticing him. He quirks an eyebrow. “I do not believe we have met.”

“Leonard—otherwise known as Jim’s conscience,” Bones says breezily. “And I’m sayin’ this is a bad idea.”

“Why does she want to pick on me?” Jim asks, ignoring him.

“She is hoping to disrespect me,” Spock explains, sounding tired. “She wants to put me in my place, if you will, by humiliating the man I’ve been spending my time with.”

Jim frowns. “How does that make sense?”

“Rich people politics, Jim,” Bones says, shuffling his deck of cards again. “Don’t question it.”

Spock tilts his head, looking curiously at him. “Are you attempting to find a way to fix your dealing hand?”

Bones’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You know how to play poker?”

Spock looks mildly offended. “Why would I not?”

“Okay, hello,” Jim cuts in, waving his hand between Spock and Bones. Spock turns back to him, and Jim feels a bit taken aback. “Anything else I should know?”

Spock purses his lips and considers this. “Do not speak unless spoken to, use a quiet tone of voice so not to appear abrasive, maintain eye contact but do not stare, offer a woman your arm unless she is already being escorted, never slouch, and”—his eyes glance up to Jim’s forehead—“you must do something about your hair.”

Jim frowns, automatically reaching up to tug at his shaggy bangs. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Spock raises an eyebrow as if the answer is obvious. “Everything.”

Jim lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, feeling more screwed than ever. “Great,” he says sarcastically. “That’s all really helpful.”

He's not sure if Spock catches on to his sarcasm. “I should have brought a cutlery set,” he muses quietly.

“I know how to use a fork, Spock,” Jim snaps. “I’m not _that_ poor.”

“Do you know the differences between each?”

Jim blinks, then his face screws up in bewilderment. “You eat with more than one fork?”

Spock sighs softly. “When we get to that point in the evening, watch me before you make a move.” He glances down at the watch on his wrist and his lips pull down in a frown. “I cannot stay longer. I trust you can put yourself into a suit?”

Jim scowls, getting a little irritated now. “ _Yes_.”

“Very well,” Spock says, then steps back over to the door. “I will see you at the end of the grand staircase in a little over an hour. Do not be late, Mister Kirk.”

“It’s Jim!” Jim shouts after him. He heaves a breath, then whirls around to see Bones snickering. “ _What?_ ”

“You are so fucked, kid,” Bones chuckles, shaking his head. “You should have gotten outta this while you still could.”

“He brought me his suit,” Jim says helplessly, waving his arms around. “I _have_ to go. I can’t back out!”

“You’ll be regrettin’ those words when you’re wanting to stab your eyeballs out with all those multiple forks.”

“ _Bones_ ,” he whines.

“Okay, okay,” Bones relents, putting down his cards and sitting on the edge of the cot. “Get yourself into that thing, I’ll go find somebody who can work on your hair.”

Jim nods and Bones brushes past him out the cabin door. Turning to the garment on the cot, Jim realizes he doesn’t have the slightest idea of how to put any of it on. He wore a tux one once when Sam got married, but Jim was sixteen then and the shabby jacket and dress pants were nothing compared to _this_. There are too many pieces. It all looks too delicate, too refined, like the fabric might rip if he tugs on it too hard.

“Shit.”

Then, he remembers Spock saying he would be wearing one similar fashion. Spock, who already was incredibly handsome, but dressed to the nines in a suit like this. His brain quickly conjures up an image, and it makes Jim’s face heat.

“ _Shit_.”

Seconds later, the door swings open and Bones enters followed by a buxom woman with wild red curls. “Jim, Gaila,” Bones introduces. “Gaila, Jim.”

“Um,” Jim says a bit dumbly, still caught up in his mental image of Spock. “Hello.”

Bones rolls his eyes and steps back through the door, muttering under his breath. Gaila sweeps further into the little room, her smile kind but her eyes playful.

“I met Len last night at the bar last night,” she explains. “He said you needed help getting ready for some kind of party.”

“Yeah, but not any kind of party,” Jim says. “A _first-class dinner_ party.”

Gaila glances behind him to look at the suit on the bed. She nods in understanding. “My mom’s a tailor,” she says. “I used to watch her get men into suits like those on a daily basis.”

Jim lets out a breath of relief. “He also said I had to do something with my hair, but I have no idea what that means.”

Gaila laughed, the sound so rich and inviting that it quells a little more of Jim’s anxiety. “They grease it back for occasions like this. Yours is all floppy. Hang on, let me grab some gel. You put on those pants and I’ll help you with the waistcoat.”

She slips out of the room and Jim starts stripping. Spock was right—the pants and shirts were tight, but not so much so that the fabric would rip. Just barely enough that Jim could feel it, the constant knowledge of Spock’s slightly smaller physique pressing into his mind. He doesn’t need to imagine how it would feel to wrap his arm around Spock’s trim waist, put his hands on Spock’s slender hips— _shouldn’t_ be thinking of that, because Christ, Spock was _so far_ out of his league.

Gaila comes back armed with a comb and a container of hair gel. She helps him layer on the vest and tie his tie before helping him slip on the jacket.

“Cufflinks,” Jim says in disbelief as he sits on the cot to let Gaila rake the comb through his hair. “I’m wearing _cufflinks_.”

Gaila smiles. “You must really like this guy to risk going up there with all those fake debutants.”

“I don’t like him,” Jim replies quickly. “I-I mean, I do—the only reason I got invited up there is because I saved his life and his fiancé wants to skin me alive in front of an audience.”

She shoots him a knowing look. “If you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t be doing this,” she says, attacking his bangs with the gel. “And if _he_ didn’t like _you_ , he wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to give you a fighting chance.”

A warm feeling blooms in Jim’s chest. “You think he likes me?”

Gaila rolls her eyes and tugs a bit hard on one strand of hair. It doesn’t stop the grin from breaking out on Jim’s face. When she’s done, she pulls back and hands him a small mirror out of one of the pockets of her skirt. Jim blinks, barely recognizing himself.

“I feel like a show poodle,” he admits.

Gaila giggles, taking back the mirror. “Just try not to act like one, sweetie.”

Jim winks at her and gets up. “Alright, I should probably head up to the wolves.” 

“Good luck,” Gaila tells him sincerely. “Tell me how it goes!”

He nods and steps out of the cabin, taking a deep breath before starting down the halls to the upper decks. As he goes up the stairs, the servants he passes stop whatever they are doing and nod graciously at him. One even calls him “sir.”

Jim’s never been called “sir” in his life.

Once he gets up to the top decks, his nerves kick in. His fingers thrum absently at the side of his leg and he keeps licking and biting at his lips. He’s sure any second someone will point at him and send him barreling back down to the lower decks, but no one does. He gets polite smiles and nods from every gentleman who he makes eye contact with. Remembering what Spock said, he’s careful not to stare but takes note of all the body language he can. He straightens his shoulders and holds his chin a little higher, pretending he is just as rich as he looked.

Jim’s sure he looks a bit more natural, but his body is thrumming with anxiety when he reaches the bottom of the grand staircase. It’s more glamorous than anything he’s ever seen outside of a magazine. He wonders briefly if the other high society people in the room think so as well. They might think it’s underwhelming, compared to all they’re used to.

He hears the sound of familiar voices, and glances up to see Spock’s fiancé on the arm of the man she was walking with earlier. They look strikingly similar—maybe they were related? Jim expects them to say something to him when they pass, but they ignore him, almost as if they didn’t recognize him.

They probably don’t.

The next man who descends is Spock’s father, striding to catch up with the other two. Jim turns his eyes up to the staircase and the floor drops out from under his feet.

Spock is…gorgeous. More so than what Jim could have ever imagined. He looks pristine, the warm light from the lamps making his pale skin appear to glow. The cut of his suit perfectly highlights the slim form of his figure, and when his dark eyes lock on his, Jim feels his mouth go dry.

“I see you managed to put everything on correctly,” Spock tells him once he has reached him, one side of his mouth curled up into a smirk.

Jim can’t quite get his brain to work yet.

Spock quirks an eyebrow. “Are you well?”

Snapping out of it, Jim shakes his head. “Y-yeah, sorry. It’s just…you look…” Jim flounders for a moment before settling dumbly on, “good.”

Spock looks both pleased and amused at the compliment. “Thank you, Jim.”

Jim brightens. “Hey,” he says, smiling warmly, “you just called me Jim.”

A delicate flush spreads across Spock’s cheeks at getting caught on his improper behavior. Jim’s grin widens. “A slip of the tongue,” Spock assures him, stepping down past him.

“Of course,” Jim teases, easily following. They go through a series of doors, each more alluring than the next, the rooms filled with aristocratic people speaking in voices just barely heard over the soft violin music. “I didn’t know there were so many rich people in the world.”

Spock shoots him a wry glance, and subtly tilts his chin in one direction without moving the rest of his body. “The balding man is Jean-Luc Picard, the ambassador to France. Over there is Kathryn Janeway, who built her millions single handedly on the coffee industry, nearly unheard of for a woman. And…” Spock’s eyes dart around the room for a second before apparently finding who he was looking for. “Ah, yes. That blonde woman with the shorter hair—Natasha Yar—is pregnant with her husband’s twin brother’s child.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “Scandalous,” he replies.

“Quite,” Spock agrees.

“How do you know all that?”

Spock’s lips press into a line and he looks away. “Gossip is insidious,” he murmurs. “Nothing can be kept secret for long.”

There is an undertone of emotion in his voice, and Jim wants to ask what it is but he is ushered forward before he can get the chance.

“You must act like you belong,” Spock whispers a little desperately, leaning close enough to brush their shoulders together. “Make up a story about your upbringing, or how you are newly accustomed to your wealth.”

Jim turns to him and frowns. “I’m not lying to all these people, Spock.”

“You must,” Spock insists. “Your reputation—”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t give a damn about my reputation,” Jim shoots back. “It got me this far. There’s nothing anybody in this room can say to me that will change how I look at myself.”

Spock stares at him as if he has never seen anything quite like him before. Jim isn’t sure if he should take that as a compliment or not.

They pass around a few dining tables, Spock eventually stopping at one. Sarek is there, and Spock stands patiently just to his side as he finishes a conversation with someone. When Sarek notices him, he turns to glance at Spock, then his eyes slide over to Jim.

“Father,” Spock says smoothly, “I believe you remember Mister Kirk.”

Sarek looks surprised. “Kirk,” he repeats. “Forgive me, I was not expecting you to appear so presentable.”

Jim nearly laughs. “Me neither.”

Spock clears his throat and gives him a pointed look. Jim takes the hint and shuts up. Spock gracefully crosses to his other side and takes a seat next to T’Pring, and Jim fills one just across from them. T’Pring ceases her conversation with the woman on her right and looks up, double taking when she realizes who is right in front of her.

He only feels a little smug at her shocked expression.

But it only lasts for a moment. She is quick to mask her surprise, reaching down on the table and grasping Spock’s hand tightly. She leans in and presses the lightest of kisses across his cheek.

Spock looks even paler than before. Jim forces himself to look away, desperately trying to ignore how hot he suddenly feels. He glances down at the table in surprise—he has three forks. _Three_. Not to mention the two knives and all the spoons on his left. The plate was china, obviously, but it looked like it was plated in _gold_.

“Uh,” Jim stutters, suddenly feeling entirely out of place. He quickly turns to the man on his right. “How do I—”

“Start from the outside and work yer way in,” the man answers, as if he already knew what Jim was going to ask. “Yer not from this deck, are ye laddie?”

Jim smiles wistfully. “How could you tell?”

“It’s yer eyes—they’re too kind for this crowd,” the man tells him. “Ta tell ye the truth, I don’t belong up here neither, not really. The only reason I am is ‘cause I built this beauty, and suddenly everyone in this room thinks I’m a god.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “You built the _Enterprise_?”

“Aye, with my own two hands,” the man nods. “Montgomery Scott, at yer service. I recognize ye from somewhere…who gussied ye up like this?”

Jim’s gaze drifts over to Spock, who is obediently listening to something his fiancé is saying. “Spock, sir.”

“Ah, right. I’ve seen ye together before.” He wags his finger at him. “And don’t go callin’ me sir. We got a bond now, see? Since neither o’ us are supposed ta really be here. Call me Scotty.”

Jim nods, but can’t take his eyes off Spock. Under the table, Scotty nudges him with his foot. “Laddie,” he warns softly, “be careful now. These people will eat ye alive if given the chance. Doncha go pinin’ after things ye can’t have.”

With his impeccable wit and achingly beautiful demeanor, Spock is the image of everything Jim can’t have.

The food gets served and Jim has to hold himself back from eating like a starved animal. Everything here smells heavenly and tastes even better, but he knows better than to start shoving his face in a crowd of aristocrats. He watches Spock carefully, attempting to mimic the delicate way he cuts and brings his food to his mouth. And even though Spock is aware of Jim, exaggerating his movements and shooting him pointed glances, Spock is too elegant; every move looked as if it was carefully calculated before he even thought of lifting a finger. Jim feels clumsy and brash in comparison.

It isn’t long into the meal that T’Pring trains her cold eyes on him. “Tell me, Mister Kirk,” she says, “what are the third-class amenities like onboard? I have heard they are quite impressive.”

But Jim is ready, and shoots back a charming smile. “The best I’ve seen, ma’am. Hardly any rats.”

A few people chuckle lightly. T’Pring’s eyebrow twitches, but she doesn’t respond other than that.

“Mister Kirk is joining us from the lower decks,” Sarek explains to the others at the table. “He gave some assistance to my son yesterday.”

“Where exactly do you live, Mister Kirk?” T’Pring asks.

“Well,” Jim begins, “I’m originally from Iowa, but my parents met in California and my brother lives in New York right now. I’ve been all over, lived all over.” He shrugs. “I like to travel.”

T’Pring raises her chin slightly higher. At her side, Spock looks as if he wants to simultaneously sink lower into his seat and hang rapt on Jim’s every word.

“How do you travel?” asks the man on the other side of Sarek.

“Depends, really,” Jim admits. “Sometimes I find work, sometimes I just let the wind take me.”

“That can hardly be fulfilling,” T’Pring says flatly.

“Actually, it is,” he refutes. “The whole reason I’m on this ship is because I won tickets in a chess match. One of the luckier ones I’ve had.” He smiles again, but this time aims it at Spock, whose lips quirk up but eyes dart away.

“There is no such thing as luck,” T’Pring snaps.

“But somehow I’m here,” Jim responds easily, watching as her little nose wrinkles in distaste. “I don’t believe in no win scenarios. I’ve survived this long without a plan for my life, taking each day one at a time as it comes. If that’s not luck, I don’t know what is.”

Scotty laughs once and claps him on shoulder. “No truer words than that, laddie!”

T’Pring’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. Spock shoots quick glances over to him, clearly pleased at his answers. Jim tries not to let it affect him too much, but the warmth of Spock’s eyes is addicting.

As dinner winds down, people begin making excuses to retire to other areas of the ship for more socialization. Jim gets up and steps over to Spock.

Spock looks up and stands as well. “Must you go?” he murmurs. Jim smirks.

“C’mon Spock, you know I have to go back to row with the other slaves,” he jokes darkly. Spock takes a measured breath, attempting not to look disappointed but failing.

“Thank you, Mister Kirk,” Spock says, “for indulging me this evening.”

“Jim,” he corrects automatically. “And you’re welcome.”

It takes a second, but Spock softly repeats, “Jim.” He still looks as if he doesn’t want to sit back down, and Jim suddenly gets another idea.

“Goodnight, Spock,” he says, offering his hand for Spock to shake. Spock is a bit surprised as the sudden formality but obliges, taking Jim’s hand in his own.

Jim tugs him closer, breathing just into Spock’s ear, “Fifteen minutes in front of the clock.” When he pulls back, Spock looks at him in curiosity but Jim turns away before he can ask anything more.

He moseys back out to the grand staircase, being sure to take his time. He’s not even sure if Spock trusts him enough to actually follow him out here, but Jim can hope. Besides, there was no way he imagined all those side glances tonight.

He’s not surprised when exactly fifteen minutes later, Spock shows up at the bottom of the staircase. He still looks curious and slightly analytical, as if Jim is a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out how to solve.

When Spock steps up to him, Jim offers him a playfully crooked grin. “So, you wanna go to a real party?”

~

The sound of music can be heard throughout the entire deck. Spock feels overdressed and out of place to be in an area like this. They pass people who openly stare at him, but Jim shoots them all smiles and somehow seems to know most of the passengers by name. When Jim leads him to the top of a staircase, Spock can look down and see the wildness of a moving crowd below. He is struck with a sudden anxiety.

“Jim,” Spock says, catching his arm to stop him. “Are you certain this is appropriate?”

Jim raises an eyebrow but smiles easily. “I sat through a dinner dressed like a penguin,” he jokes. “It’s only fair you return the favor.” He sheds his suit jacket and tugs Spock’s off as well, tossing them both on a nearby bench. Then he runs his fingers through his hair, ruffing it up so it’s not slicked back anymore. He tousles Spock’s hair too. “There, now you look a little less stingy.”

Spock frowns and immediately smooths down the stands as Jim takes his hand pulls him down into the madness below. There is a haze of smoke in the air and the blaring music is painfully Irish. And there were so many _people_ —Spock had no idea there could be so many bodies in one room. It was probably a safety hazard.

Jim, however, seems right at home. He easily steps through the crowd and clouds of smoke, clapping strangers on the shoulder and grinning the entire time. Spock keeps up with him, slightly afraid if he did not he would get lost.

“Bones!” Jim shouts over the music, making a beeline for a crowded table where Leonard is playing poker. A Japanese man sitting across from him has a little girl on his lap, holding his cards in her tiny hands.

Leonard glances up, then his mouth falls open when he notices Spock.

“How the _hell_ did he get you down here?” Leonard demands.

“I’m persuasive,” Jim answers for him, grinning. A boy with rowdy curls who barely looked old enough to be a man steps over, two glasses of beer in his hands. Jim is quick to snatch them out of the boy’s hands, taking one for himself and handing the other to Spock. The boy doesn’t look offended at all, though his eyes go as wide as saucers he takes in both of them in their fancy dress.

“No,” Leonard counters, “you’re just annoying as shit.”

Jim shoots him a wink before downing a rather large gulp of the beer. Spock watches and can’t help but notice how part of the liquid misses his mouth and drips tantalizing down his sharp jawline and throat.

Spock clutches the glass a little tighter.

“Make a move, Leonard,” the Japanese man teases. “You can’t buy any more time.”

“I ain’t buyin’ time,” he snaps. “Okay, here.”

He throws down a card and everyone at the table leans closer. The first person to react is the little girl, who starts giggling. The man shushes her but she eagerly drops his hand to the table. Leonard swears and Jim breaks out laughing, his beer sloshing around the top of the glass.

“Not fair, Hikaru,” Leonard protests. He points his finger accusatory at Jim. “He distracted me.”

“I was here for like four seconds,” Jim protests. “You’re just a sore loser.”

The man—Hikaru—pulls the little girl off his lap and gets up. “You play him, Jim,” he says easily. “I promised my husband a dance.”

“Papa,” the little girl whines. “You said I could dance next.”

“I’ll take you,” Jim offers, setting down his glass and holding out his hand. She puts her little hand in his, and he kisses the back of it, making her blush and giggle like mad. Jim smiles and sweeps her away through the crowd, leaving Spock alone by the table.

“I vill play you,” the boy says, imminently sitting down in Hikaru’s seat. His accent is thick and it takes Spock a moment to place it as Russian.

Hikaru snorts. “Good luck, Pavel.”

“I do not need luck,” he refutes stubbornly. “Poker was inwented in Russia. _Poydem_.”

Leonard smirks and starts shuffling the cards in the same manner he did earlier in their cabin. Spock watches carefully as he deals, absentmindedly taking a sip of the beer in his hand and instantly regretting it. It was the foulest liquor he ever tasted. He must have made a face, because Leonard glances up at him and his smirk widens.

“Bet it doesn’t taste like ambrosia, now does it?” he taunts over the music. Spock frowns and turns back to watching him deal.

The game gets off to a rocky start, but it isn’t long before Pavel starts losing. He has a horrible habit of biting his lip or tugging at his curls whenever he has a bad hand. An easy tell, and a classic mistake.

It also doesn’t help that Leonard sneaks an ace up his sleeve when he thinks no one is looking.

Jim bounds back over. His face is flushed, his collar is undone and his over shirt is completely unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up. Spock’s brain short circuits for a second before he forces his eyes back up on Jim’s face.

Perhaps this momentarily lapse of concentration is all it took for Jim to swoop in and grab him, but Spock suddenly finds himself being yanked toward the platform being used as a dance floor.

“Jim!” he says desperately, trying to pull back. “Jim, no!”

But Jim throws him a crooked grin over his shoulder, and Spock suddenly feels helpless to stumble along.

The music is much louder now, the sound of pipes pounding in Spock’s ears. He gets pulled up onto the dance floor and feels stiffer than ever. “Jim,” he tries again, “I _can’t_.”

Jim shakes his head, his hair flopping and curling across his forehead. “Yes, you can.”

“I am not familiar with the proper maneuvers for this song,” Spock protests.

“Neither am I,” Jim admits, pulling him so close it makes his breath stutter. Jim’s body was firm and warm, and had Jim not been holding onto his waist, Spock was sure his knees would have buckled.

The beat picks up and Jim suddenly moves, yanking him forward. They stagger and sway and more or less just end up spinning around in circles. The room and noise fades away into a blur and all Spock can focus on is Jim’s eyes, so bright in the haze of smoke and grime. And maybe it was the beer combined with the inertia of the spinning or Jim’s disarming smile, but Spock starts to feel his resolve to stay proper crumble away.

When they finally careen off floor and back to the table, Pavel is red in the face and releasing a string of curses in Russian. Leonard is laughing and collecting his cards, leaning back in his chair.

“Good try, kid,” Leonard tells him earnestly. “Better practice more before you go up against the master.”

Pavel stands and snatches a beer out of the hand of a passing woman with blazing red hair. He takes a gulp and swipes at his mouth angrily.

“He cheats,” he tells Jim, his curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “There ees no other explanation.”

Surprising everyone—even himself—Spock sits down in the chair and announces, “I will play.”

Leonard’s eyebrows shoot up. Jim laughs by his ear, sounding delighted.

“What’s going on?” the ginger woman asks, rolling a cigarette between her lips.

“Jim’s little rich boy thinks he can beat me,” Leonard supplies, shuffling the cards. Jim reaches around the woman to grab two more beers form the nearby table. He hands one to Spock and Spock once again surprises himself by a gulping from the glass, the liquid burning down his throat and spreading heat through his entire body.

“ _That’s_ him?” the woman asks Jim in disbelief, sounding both shocked and impressed. “Damn, Jimmy, you sure know how to get the pretty ones.”

Leonard waves his hands around and shouts over the music, “Everybody shut up! Legendary ass kicking is about to commence over here.”

“Perhaps,” Spock says, feeling a bit too dizzy and smug. “But it will not be mine.”

Low jeers and hoots follow his comment. Leonard looks more spirited than before. “Bring it on, you pompous bastard.”

He starts to deal and Spock glances down at his cards—his hand was not good, but it could have been worse. As the game begins, Spock keeping one eye on his cards and the other on his opponent. He has slight leverage because he has already watched Leonard play, already seen his techniques and tells. Leonard hasn’t seen any of his strategies, and he uses this to his advantage.

The game goes on longer than either of them anticipate. There is a larger crowd now, including Hikaru, Jim, the ginger woman he learns is named Gaila, Pavel, and many others. Jim is on his right and Pavel is on his left, both shooting anxious glances across Spock’s shoulders at every hand.

On the other side of the table, Hikaru and Gaila are circled around Leonard, sharing the same kind of nervous glances. Gone is the playful look on Leonard’s face, being replaced by an expression of pure concentration. It seems he underestimated Spock—another mistake that bodes well in Spock’s favor.

“Alright,” Leonard says eventually. “All in.”

He drops his cards on the table. His hand is good, but Spock’s is better. He tries not to appear entirely self-satisfied when he places his own cards down and shoots Leonard a smirk.

The crowd around him erupts. Jim is screaming the loudest, laughing and yelling in Spock’s ear. On his other side, Pavel is bouncing up and down and slapping Spock on the back, hollering in Russian. Leonard’s face twists in a scowl.

“Beginner’s luck,” he spits dryly, already reshuffling the cards. “Bet you can’t do it again.”

“You seem to be underestimating me, Leonard,” Spock says, raising his chin in an arrogant fashion like his father. He feels delightedly dizzy, the weight of Jim’s hand on his shoulder spreading warmth throughout his upper body. He wonders if he looks as flushed as he feels.

Leonard deals the cards. This time, Spock beats him in under seven hands. Leonard swears and looks taken aback.

“Son of a bitch!” he cries. “How the hell are you doing that?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Has it occurred to you that I am a better player?”

“I’m cheating, Spock,” Leonard says bluntly, pulling a card out of his sleeve to prove it. “You _shouldn’t_ be able to win!”

“I knev it!” Pavel howls, stabbing an accusatory finger between Leonard’s eyes. “ _Po’shyol ‘na hui!_ ”

Spock turns to Jim and says seriously, “I knew he was cheating.” Jim chuckles and shakes his head, his grip tightening on Spock’s shoulder.

~

They stay down at the party for a few more hours. By the time they leave, the music has died down and the smoke cloud has almost completely dissipated. Jim insists on walking him back upstairs, as Spock drunk a little too much and can’t walk far without swaying. They end up out on the upper deck, the cool night air sweeping across Spock’s skin, a relief compared to how hot it was downstairs.

“Jim,” he says when Jim leads him toward the back of the ship, “my cabin is that way.”

“I know,” he replies. “I’m just resisting the temptation of following you inside. You _would_ ask me inside, after all.”

Spock looks at him absurdly. “I most certainly would not.”

“Yes, you would,” Jim says earnestly. “See, do it. Invite me in. See what I say.”

Holding the same expression, Spock obliges and asks, “Would you like to come in—”

“Yes,” Jim says firmly. “No, wait! Shit, I was going to say no! Damn it, I guess I’m not as much as a gentleman as I thought.” He laughs, his joy infectious. He locks eyes with Spock and says, “It’s just so hard to resist you.”

Spock swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Jim’s smile softens, and he pulls Spock closer, tucking one hand on his lower back and takes Spock’s hand in the other. And even though the deck is deserted, they are still doing this in _public_ , out in the open where anyone could see—Spock is more focused on how close Jim is rather than getting caught.

“Jim,” he says softly, his breath visible in the night, “what are you doing?”

“I wanted to dance like this with you down there,” Jim answers, slowly beginning to sway his body back and forth, “but it was too loud.”

Spock gets drawn in closer, his chin resting comfortably on Jim’s shoulder. He feels dizzy again, but now it had nothing to do with the spinning. Jim is so warm; every inch their bodies touched seems to burn a hole right through Spock.

He feels it when Jim’s chest starts to vibrate slightly, and it takes Spock’s inebriated mind a second to realize he was humming. The noise is soft, barely heard above the sound of the swirling waves and hum of the ship’s engines under their feet.

“What is that?” Spock asks quietly.

“Hmm? Oh,” Jim says, pulling back slightly. “It’s just a song my parents used to dance to.”

“It is…nice.”

He can hear Jim let out a puff of a laugh and he is drawn closer again. Jim’s hands are callused and rough, but somehow gentle, too. They felt so different compared T’Pring’s dedicate hands.

Better.

 _Right_.

“Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars,” Jim sings softly in his ear, his warm breath causing Spock’s skin to break out into goosebumps. “Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.”

Spock feels his heart beat faster in his chest. The world around them started to grow blurry, fading away just like it had briefly down in third-class. “In other words,” Jim continues, “hold my hand.”

Jim stops swaying, going still as he finishes the rest of the verse. “In other words…” He trails off, pulling back just enough to stare into Spock’s eyes, brushing their cheeks together deliciously in the process. “Baby, kiss me…”

Spock can smell the bitter alcohol on Jim’s breath, can already imagine what his plush lips would feel like underneath his own. They both seem to move forward, drawing closer until Jim closes his eyes and Spock’s start to droop, forgetting everything for one moment.

But even drunk, he knows he can’t give in.

“Jim,” Spock whispers, his breath ghosting across Jim’s lips.

Jim doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move back. “Hmm?” 

“It is very late.”

“Probably is.”

“It is very late,” Spock repeats a bit louder, pulling back enough to make Jim open his eyes. “I must go.”

Jim blinks, looking confused for a second before recognition and disappointment flashes across his face. “Right.”

Spock’s heart twists. He wishes more than anything for a way to apologize, to make it right. Jim is kind, so handsome and trusting, he did not deserve to be wrapped up in the mess of Spock’s life. And yet, Jim single handedly brought him more happiness in one night than he has ever had in his life.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Spock assures him, already stepping back to the stairwell. Jim holds on to his hand for as long as possible before reluctantly letting to, causing Spock’s heart to flutter helplessly.

“Tomorrow,” Jim repeats softly.

Spock shoots him a small smile. “Goodnight, Jim.”

~

The next morning, Spock wakes with a pounding head and an ache in his stomach. It takes a second for him to realize the light rapping he hears is not coming from his throbbing temples, but from the door.

“Mister Spock?” a woman’s voice calls. Spock props himself up on his elbows just as T’Pring’s maid pops her blonde head in. Her eyes go wide at the sight of him still in bed and she quickly turns away, her cheeks flushing red. “I-I’m sorry, sir, my mistress is waiting at breakfast and she was wondering where you were.”

Spock goes go sit up but the room spins when he moves. His hands fly to his head, trying to hold himself still as his vision swims.

“I will be…out momentarily,” Spock grits out, his stomach flipping.

The maid purses her lips and doesn’t move. “Sir,” she says hesitantly, “it—it might not be my place to say, but it looks as though you had a rough night.”

Spock wants to laugh, but he is afraid if he does he might heave. “I have never experienced third-class liquor in such an extensive manner before,” he tells her dryly. Her lips twist up into a soft smile.

“If you would like,” she says, “I can bring you some ginger. It will help settle your stomach.”

He nods and cringes as the movement makes him feel woozy again. “Thank you.” She bows her head respectfully and goes to leave, but Spock calls her back. “Wait.”

She turns. Even though his vision is blurry, it is not hard for him to tell that she has a pleasant face. Perhaps a bit plain in her uniform, but her mouth soft and her eyes friendly. She looked like she could have been downstairs among the crowd last night, dancing to the music right beside him. For all he knew, she could have. Spock remembers how Jim seemed to know everyone by name, then thinks of how very little he knew about those who served him.

“What is your name?”

The maid blinks, clearly not expecting this question. “C-Chapel, sir. Christine Chapel.”

“Thank you, Christine.”

She beams, then slips out of the room. Spock slowly untangles himself from his bedsheets, discovering that his attire from last night still half on. What little was left of his former tuxedo is wrinkled and probably needed to be retailored. He didn’t have the slightest idea of how to find the rest of it, recalling how Jim tossed down their jackets on a bench before steering him down into the party.

Just thinking of the beer and smoke makes him feel sick again. Spock scrubs a hand across his face and stands, heading over to the washroom to splash hot water on his face. When he comes back, a small teacup full of steaming liquid on his nightstand. He brings the cup to his lips, his stomach settling as the ginger eased down his throat.

He gets dressed as quick as his throbbing head will allow and steps out onto the promenade deck, where T’Pring is already sitting at a table. She doesn’t look up as he sits across from her, swirling her spoon in her tea almost absentmindedly as she stubbornly keeps her gaze down.

They are served and eat in silence. Spock does not eat much, the very idea of bringing food past his lips making him feel queasy all over again. Christine shoots him a soft glance over T’Pring’s shoulder as she goes to refill her teacup. T’Pring raises her hand and Christine immediately backs away, her dark eyes finally snapping up to meet his.

“I was hoping you would have joined me last night,” T’Pring says wistfully, her voice dangerously sweet.

Spock’s mouth feels dry. He straightens his shoulders and turns back to the table, fighting to stay cool and collected. “I was tired,” he admits. It was not a lie.

“Yes,” T’Pring nods, “I’m sure galivanting down in third-class with the mongrels is no doubt exhausting.”

Spock goes very still. He wants to ask how she could have possibly known this, before the answer makes itself clear. There was nothing Stonn would deny his sister, and he hated Spock as much as Spock hated him. “You had me followed.”

“Yes,” T’Pring says again, “and thank goodness I did. Who knows what kind of flea ridden strays you could have brought back with you.”

Spock narrows his eyes at the thinly veiled blow to Jim. “He is not flea ridden,” he shoots back before he can stop himself.

T’Pring’s eyes go wide, her lips parting in shock. “Are you defending him?” she asks in disbelief. “In case you have forgotten, Spock, _I_ am your fiancé.”

“And I yours!” Spock snaps, finally losing his patience. “I will not be parried around like a doll for your amusement!”

T’Pring’s eyes light in fury as she stands so fast the chair falls back against the floor. She steps quickly to the other side of the table and strikes him across the cheek, her nails biting into his skin. Dimly, Spock hears a soft gasp and the shattering of china, but he can’t look to the noise as T’Pring bends low in front of his face.

“How dare you speak those words to me,” she hisses. “I knew I was making a sacrifice to get married to a half-blooded cur like you, but I will not be humiliated in front of in front of society by your unbecoming actions! You will cease this insidious behavior at once, or else I will make every second we are wed a living hell for the queer who pretends to be a man!”

She shoves past him and strides out the door without looking back. Spock feels himself release a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and he shakily turns to where the noise came from. Christine is on the floor, hastily collecting the pieces of the teacup and plate she must have dropped in her surprise.

“Christine,” Spock says, standing unsteadily and practically falling down on his knees next to her. “She frightened you—I apologize—it was an accident—let me help—”

Christine shakes her head and catches his hands. They’re trembling.

“It’s alright,” Christine says quickly, “Mister Spock, it’s alright.”

But it feels the very opposite of _alright_. Spock can’t seem to catch his breath. Christine helps him stand and ushers him out of the room as she finishes cleaning. He feels more nauseous than before, unable to fully push down the bile in his throat. He goes about the rest of his day feeling like this, trying his best to keep his face from turning green every time T’Pring steps in the room.

Later in the afternoon, he is acting as an escort for his fiancé and a woman named Uhura who T’pring apparently met last night at dinner in his absence. They are walking the top decks, gossiping quietly about little people and little problems, all of it amounting to nothing. Spock stays a distance behind, trying desperately to appear the imagine of a doting husband while struggling to hide just how much turmoil is within him.

When someone catches his arm, Spock turns and nearly jumps in surprise. Jim glances around the deck and waves his hand, indicating for Spock to follow him. Spock shakes his head, but follows him into an empty gym anyway.

“Spock, what gives?” Jim asks once the door closes behind them. “You said you’d find me but I haven’t seen you all day, and when I asked about you upstairs these goons tried to pay me off.” He should not be as surprised to learn that either his father or T’Pring commissioned people to keep Jim away from him. But, he still is.

Jim must have noticed his slight change in demeanor, because his face shifts from confusion to dread. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

Spock swallows against his dry throat and attempts to stand straighter. “Thank you for your concern, Mister Kirk, but I can assure you nothing is out of the ordinary.”

Jim’s face screws up. “ _Mister Kirk?_ ” he repeats, sounding offended and hurt. “What the hell happened to _Jim?_ ”

“I must go,” Spock says, making a move toward the door. He did not trust himself to stay in a room alone with Jim for long. He had no idea what might happen, and that very idea frightened him.

“Hey, hey, wait!” Jim says desperately, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “I gotta talk to you.”

Spock lets out a measured breath, closing his eyes tightly. “Mister Kirk, please—”

“It’s Jim, goddamn it!”

“You are incredibly irritating!” Spock says sharply, opening his eyes and glaring at him fiercely.

“And you’re a pretentious pain in the ass!” Jim snaps right back. They stare at each other for a second before Jim sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Spock, look, I’m not stupid. I _know_ how the world works. I know I’m poorer than shit and you deserve so much more, but…” His blue eyes lock on his and Spock feels his knees start to tremble. “You’re the smartest, most amazing, astounding person I’ve ever met. And…I don’t know what’s happening exactly, but I know you can feel it, too.”

Spock sucks in a sharp breath. “Jim…” he says helplessly, “I cannot. I am engaged to T’Pring. I love T’Pring. She will be my wife and we will be happy together.”

The words are hollow and they both know it. Jim looks at him like his heart is breaking, and Spock feels completely out of control of the situation.

“Oh, Spock,” Jim says softly, “don’t you get it? If you marry her, you’ll be trapped. You’ll hate it, hate yourself, and one day it’ll break you. Maybe not right away, maybe not in five years or ten but one day you’re gonna wake up and loathe your existence. All that fire that makes you so different will be gone. And then you’ll have no way out.”

Spock turns his eyes away, unable to deny any of it. He feels nauseous all over again as he says lowly, “I know what I am doing. I will be fine.”

“Liar.”

Spock takes a step away from him, keeping his eyes lowered as he straightens his coat and vest. “Jim, you must understand the risks we would be facing if I acted any further.”

“Look at me, Spock.”

“I apologize if I have led you on in any way, but I can assure you it was not my intention.”

“Look at me!” Jim says fiercely, and against his better judgement, Spock does. Jim licks his lips anxiously and continues, “If you can look me in the eyes _right now_ and tell me you don’t want to see me again, I’ll leave you alone.”

For a moment, they just stare at each other, Spock easily getting lost in the deep blue of Jim’s eyes. He can’t bring himself to speak—not because of what he would say, but because of what he wouldn’t.

“I am sorry, Jim,” he says eventually, meaning every word. Jim visibly deflates, but Spock turns and quickly heads out the door back onto the deck before Jim can speak again.

~

It’s like he’s in nightmare. Nothing looks or tastes the same; everything has lost purpose and logic. That night at dinner, he listens to his father and Mr. Komack speak of useless things, like money and land and politics. All Spock can think is how none of it mattered, it was just talk. The longer he looks at his father, the longer he wonders if his mother ever got him to dance until he was drunk and dizzy like Jim had done with him.

Everything around him—the words, the people, the emotions—is fake. T’Pring’s flirting, Stonn’s chivalry, Sarek’s pleasure and approval—it might be solid, but none of it was _real_. None of it made sense or felt right like Jim’s hand had felt grasped within his own.

And it’s while the caviar is being served that Spock realizes he made a terrible error.

Once dinner is done, Spock walks T’Pring back to her room before he quickly changes out of his evening attire to something a little less conspicuous. He still wears a tie, of course—he’s not a savage—choosing a cream-colored vest over a dark blue shirt and jacket. T’Pring always told him he looked good in blue, but he’s hardly sure if he could trust the words of a viper.

He smooths down his bangs one more time before stepping out into the hall, only just realizing his next problem. He doesn’t have the slightest idea of where Jim is, or how to even start to look for him.

Jim mentioned something earlier about not being allowed on the first-class decks, so that narrows it down marginally. He could always start in third-class with Jim’s cabin, but if he got caught down there he would never be let out of T’Pring’s sight for the duration of the journey.

Instead, Spock wanders to the open decks toward the back of the ship. He thinks of how just last night, he had danced in another man’s arms in this spot. How sweetly Jim had sung in his ear. The memory brings a rush of warmth through him, which fuels his determination.

While walking past a bench, he notices a familiar mop of red curls. He doubles back and crosses to the front of the bench. Leonard is lying down with his head in Gaila’s lap, smoking. Gaila’s eyebrows shoot up at the sight of him, her hair looking as though it caught fire in the waning sunlight.

“Len, look,” Gaila says, nudging the man in her lap gently.

Leonard looks up, then takes a drag from the cigarette and puffs it out a stream on the side of his mouth. “Oh, it’s _you_.”

Spock doesn’t dignify him with a rebuttal, only seeking one answer. “Where is Jim?”

Gaila’s eyebrows shoot up even higher. She glances down at Leonard.

Leonard narrows his eyes, sitting up slightly. “Why do you want to know?”

Spock feels annoyance twinge at him but he refuses to lose his composure. “I wish to speak with him.”

“Sure, you do,” Leonard mutters. “Gonna go rip out the rest of his heart and throw it overboard?”

Spock’s eyes widen and panic prickles at his skin. “When I spoke to him earlier, I did not intend—”

“Quit yankin’ his chain,” Gaila scolds, flicking Leonard on the nose. He glares up at her, but she rolls her eyes and plucks the cigarette from between his lips. She takes a long inhale before turning back to Spock. “He’s up front, sweetie. And he’s _not_ heartbroken.”

“ _You_ didn’t have to listen to all the whinin’,” Leonard grumbles.

“I’m listening to some right now,” Gaila teases lightly.

“Thank you,” Spock says, stepping away before he can incite more of an argument. He strides to the back of the ship, already forming a speech in his head of how to explain his feelings. When he gets to the bow, he finds Jim standing at the very front of the ship, his figure silhouetted perfectly against the setting sun in the distance. His hair seems to glow, catching the last rays of light and radiating on his golden skin. The vision is so strong it causes Spock to pause, his carefully planned words faltering in his head.

Spock takes a breath and steps closer.

“Jim,” he calls softly. Jim turns at the sound of his voice, raising his head from where it was resting on the rail. When he notices Spock, his face breaks into a smile more brilliant than the sun behind him.

“I came to apologize about earlier,” Spock begins quickly, afraid if he doesn’t get the words out now they will disappear. “I understand if you do not want to speak to me, but—”

Jim holds up a finger to his lips and shushes him gently. Spock blinks and goes to speak again, but Jim shakes his head.

“Do you trust me?” he asks quietly.

Spock blinks again, but he answers instantaneously. “Yes.”

“Give me your hand,” he says, reaching out. Spock is suddenly reminded of two nights ago, how Jim had reached for him just like this on the opposite end of the boat. He pushes aside his hesitation and firmly places his hand in Jim’s.

Jim’s smile widens. “Close your eyes.”

Spock wants to protest, but forces himself to stop overthinking and slides his eyes shut. Jim pulls him forward gently and wraps his hands around the rail of the ship. “Hold on,” he instructs softly, his other hand going to the small of Spock’s back. “Now, step up onto the rail. Don’t worry, I gotcha.”

Shakily, Spock obeys. He raises one foot, then the other, still blindly clutching tightly to the metal. He can feel Jim moving behind him, stepping up as well.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Jim says, slowly prying his fingers from the rail. “I’m right here, I’m not gonna let you fall.”

Jim reaches Spock’s wrists out, extending his arms. Then he wraps his arms around Spock’s waist and whispers, “Open your eyes.”

It’s like he’s gliding across the sea, seeing nothing but the zooming water and the oncoming sunset. The wind is loud in his ears and the smell of the saltwater is sharp, and even though he has been living for so many years, Spock has never felt more alive.

“Jim,” he says, the one word seeming to encompass all his emotions at once. He can hear Jim smile, unwinding his arms from Spock’s waist and winds their fingers together.

“You are all I long for, all I worship and adore,” Jim croons softly to the same tune he sung last night. He plays with Spock’s fingers as he continues. “In other words, please be true.”

Spock feels his heartbeat quickens as he turns to meet Jim’s eyes.

Jim runs his tongue over his bottom lip and finishes, “In other words, I love you.”

And Spock _knows_ it’s just a song, knows it’s a silly lyric that holds sentimental meaning for Jim and has nothing to do with himself, but Jim’s hands are warm within his own and the fading light makes him look so handsome, Spock aches to look at him.

He doesn’t know who moves first, who leans closer to who. He won’t remember it anyhow—all he will remember is the feel of Jim’s soft hair weaved between his fingers and the sweetness of Jim’s breath as they finally press their lips together. It starts simply as a peck but escalates quickly, Spock losing himself to the tingling heat that spreads from Jim’s touch to the rest of his body.

They start to wobble, their balance offset on the rail, and Jim pulls away first. He steps back to the deck and pulls Spock down before Spock can even think about moving. Spock doesn’t want to let go of him, moving back into Jim’s space automatically and crowding close to his chest. From this close, he can see the little freckles that dot across Jim’s nose, can tell his eyes aren’t just _blue_ —they are cerulean, like the deep end of a pool Spock desperately wants to jump into.

“It’s late,” Jim says. Spock doesn’t know if he’s echoing his words from last night on purpose or not. “We should go inside.”

“Yes,” Spock nods, but doesn’t move away. Jim smiles gently and affectionately tugs on his ear.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go back to my cabin.”

He starts to move away, but Spock is struck with another idea. He holds onto Jim firmly and says, “No.”

Jim turns back, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “No?”

“Let us go to mine.”

Jim stares at him for a second, looking more puzzled. “Yours—as in, up there?” He points his thumb over his shoulder at the top deck. Spock nods. “In case you're forgetting, I won’t be let in.”

“Not unless you are with me,” he says easily, already stepping back toward the stairs. The sun has almost completely disappeared onto the horizon now, only a few shreds of red light in the sky.

“What happened to those risks of leading me on?” Jim asks teasingly as he follows Spock up the stairs onto the upper deck.

“I just kissed you on the front of a moving ocean liner,” Spock reminds him. “Sneaking you into my cabin is hardly a risk.”

Jim smiles, but it is easy to see he’s nervous about stepping back on a deck where he clearly stands out. Spock maneuvers them quickly and purposefully through the halls, only passing by one or two other society members who don’t bat an eye at Jim’s presence. Reaching his door, Spock unlocks it and ushers Jim inside, slipping in behind him and latching the door.

Jim lets out a low whistle, glancing around the room with wide eyes. “ _This_ is where you sleep?”

“This is the foyer, Jim,” Spock says amusedly. “I sleep in the bedroom beyond the sitting room.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he steps further into the suite, looking around the rooms for himself. “Christ,” he mutters. “No wonder you people eat with three forks.”

As Jim explores, Spock’s eye catches on something sparkling lying on the coffee table. The Vokaya. T’Pring wore it to dinner and must have thrown it off when she changed.

He lets out a soft sigh and moves around the couch to pick up his mother’s necklace, running the diamond chain lovingly across his fingers. He feels a presence at his shoulder, and turns to find Jim staring at the necklace with wide eyes.

“What is that?” Jim asks curiously. “An aquamarine?”

Spock offers the necklace to him and after a moment of hesitation, Jim takes it. “It is a diamond,” Spock tells him. “A very rare diamond, called a Vokaya. My father presented it to my mother when they were engaged, and I presented it to T’Pring as a sign of our love.”

Jim snorts, still admiring the necklace in the light. “So much for that.”

“My mother was wearing it when she died,” Spock murmurs. “It is very precious to me, but T’Pring cares not for it. She believes it is too garish to wear except when rubbing it in my face.”

Jim looks up and frowns, handing the necklace back to him. “How’d you get stuck with her, anyway?”

Spock moves to put the necklace back in its proper carrying case in the bedroom. “My family was close with hers when I was a child,” he explains. “After my mother died, my father lost his assets in a wave of grief fueled complacency, and my brother was publicly part of a failed attempt to overthrow the British Parliament.” He steps back out into the foyer. “I am the only resource available to redeem my family’s name, though there is little left to salvage.”

Jim looks at him with the same grieved expression as before. It causes Spock to look away, his shoulders tensing.

“You know you don’t have that just because they tell you,” Jim says. Spock wants to desperately to believe him, but he doesn’t allow himself the hope.

“No one should return back until later this evening, so long as the cigars and brandy hold out,” he says instead, keeping himself carefully out of Jim’s reach just in case.

“What about little wifey?” Jim asks, raising an eyebrow.

Spock nearly laughs. “T’Pring may seem a lady on the outside, but behind closed doors she becomes an entirely different person. She avoids me like the plague when we are no longer in front of an audience.”

“Right,” Jim says, nodding logically. “No surprises there.”

He moves out of the foyer and into the sitting room. Jim circles around main table, taking special interest on the chessboard, the pieces half moved from where someone had played earlier.

“You play?” Spock asks, sitting down at the table and gesturing for Jim to do the same. Jim does, grinning crookedly at him.

“How do you think I got on this ship?” he boasts, leaning back in the chair and splaying out his legs. “I played for keeps getting those tickets. Otherwise they’d never let me on board something this swanky.”

“I was a champion as well,” Spock tells him, albeit a bit smugly “I came in third place in a national competition in my childhood.”

Jim’s foot knocks against his under the table. “You think you can beat me?”

Spock quirks an eyebrow. “No. I _know_ I can beat you.”

Sitting up straight, Jim’s eyes flash in interest as a smirk plays across his lips. “Are you challenging me, Mister Spock?”

“Perhaps.”

Jim laughs, sounding delighted. “Okay, let’s do this.” As Spock begins to reset the board, Jim continues. “But we’re playing for stakes.”

Spock glances up at him doubtfully. “You are hardly in a financial position to do so.”

Jim shakes his head. “No, no, I don’t mean money. What about…” He bites his lip and leans forward, putting his hands on his knees. “Every time one of us loses a piece, we have to take off a piece of clothing.”

Spock stops, glancing up from the board. Jim is smiling, but there is something heated behind his eyes that makes a thrill shoot down Spock’s spine. He licks his lips and carefully says, “You are wearing significantly less layers than I.”

“That just means I’ll have to win,” Jim answers easily, shrugging. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’re afraid of breaking the rules.”

Spock stares at him for a moment. He should say no, because while it was risky to have Jim in the first-class cabins, the situation would be a thousand times more dangerous if Spock was caught in an indecent state with him. But Jim’s smile was so beautiful, and Spock feels safer with him than anyone else on the ship.

And after all, he has gone this far taking risks with Jim. What was one more?

Throwing caution to the wind, Spock agrees, “Very well.”

Jim claps his hands together and grins. “Prepare to get your ass handed to you, pretty boy. You might be able to out-cheat Bones in poker, but you’re in my world now.”

“I will believe it when I see it,” Spock shoots back. Then teasing stops as they both turns their attention to the board.

Spock is the first to take one of Jim’s pawns. Jim winks at him and takes off both his shoes. “I’ll give you two for the first try.” Spock barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.

Jim takes one of Spock’s pieces next. His eyes go wide when Spock takes off his vest and methodically folds it before dropping it to the floor. The tips of Jim’s ears turn pink, and he stares at the piece of clothing on the floor for a second too long.

After a few more moves with neither of them losing pieces, Spock realizes that Jim is indeed a good chess player. Perhaps not better than himself, but still providing enough of a challenge to keep Spock on his toes. Jim follows no strategy, making moves almost randomly but still holding an underlying methodology which was hard to place. When he makes a move to take one of Spock’s rooks, Spock lets him.

Jim grins triumphantly. Spock removes his tie perhaps a bit too slowly, purposefully leaving the first few buttons on his shirt open. He doesn’t miss the way Jim’s eyes go straight to the hollow of his throat.

“You appear to be blushing, Mister Kirk,” Spock says, not even trying to hide his amusement. We can postpone our game if your judgement is compromised.”

Jim’s blinks once before lifting his gaze. His mouth works for a second before he says, “N-no, I’m fine. I’m not compromised.”

He swallows thickly and goes back to the board. Spock smirks, now knowing an entirely new strategy. Because while chess revolved around calculated decisions and technique, there was one rule which stood above it all: to play the opponent, not the game.

Jim ends up losing both socks, coat, and his shirt. After each passing move, he looks more and more flustered as Spock takes off his shoes, socks, both shirts and finally trousers.

“ _Spock_ ,” he groans when Spock stands to slide off his trousers. “You’ve been losing on purpose!”

Spock raises a coy eyebrow as Jim’s eyes sweep up and down his nearly bare figure. His gaze is both hungry and torn, like he desperately wants to grab him but is holding himself back by a shred of will. “I do not believe I am losing.”

“Not fair,” Jim whines, all but squirming in his seat. Spock’s lips quirk up.

“It does not matter,” Spock tells him, pointing back to the board. “You can easily check me in one move.”

Jim tears his eyes away and glances down at the board, then back up at Spock. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

Then he leaps up and grabs Spock by the back of the neck, mashing their lips together. The pieces from the chess board go flying but Spock doesn’t care. He can hardly think when Jim’s mouth is pressed against his, his tongue sweeping hot and fast. Spock grasps at Jim’s broad shoulders, a low moan escaping him when Jim’s teeth tug at his bottom lip.

“Spock—I—” Jim pants, pulling back. “God, I want you so bad—”

“Yes,” Spock replies, unable to catch his breath. He maneuvers them over to the couch and they both collapse on it, Jim falling on top of him. 

Jim’s hands are in his hair and on his face and pressing against his chest. His calloused thumb slides across Spock’s left nipple, and Spock arches up into the touch with a gasp.

Jim kisses him on the chest, over his heart, then back up on his lips. He seems to be taken in a kind of madness, pressing down and grinding their hips together unforgivingly. Spock is lost to the feeling, every noise he makes quickly swallowed into Jim’s mouth.

“Shit, Spock,” Jim breathes, pressing their foreheads together as he runs his rough hands down Spock’s sides. “You’re so soft.”

Spock scowls at him, resisting shivering by the barest of margins and pushes Jim up, his hands fumbling at his belt. “I am not delicate,” he says disapprovingly, practically tearing off Jim’s trousers and briefs.

Jim shakes his head and helps, pushing his trousers down to his ankles. “No, that’s not what I meant.” He climbs back on top of Spock, looking intensely contemplative and very, very naked. “You’re—”

Spock looks at him imploringly, a heat sparking across his skin as he tries not to ogle at the delicious span of Jim’s tan skin. Jim smiles softly and finishes, “Perfect.”

Then he kisses Spock again, weaving one hand into his hair and using the other to cup the bulge in his briefs. Spock moans loudly, his hips jerking up, and Jim slips his hand under the waistband, taking Spock’s hard cock in his hand.

Spock’s breath catches. Jim presses a kiss against the side of his cheekbone and nips on his earlobe as he begins to pump his hand up and down in a tantalizing rhythm. Spock’s head falls back, his hands clutching at Jim’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Jim’s mouth moves from his ear to the side of his neck, latching on to a section of skin just above his fluttering pulse and sucking.

Spock can already feel the curling heat in his lower stomach, winding tighter and tighter until it can no longer be contained. His mouth falls open silently and his toes curl as he orgasms, unable to do anything but shudder and hold tightly to Jim as he falls into the wave of pleasure.

After the release passes, Jim kisses him on the nose and repeats huskily, “Perfect.”

Then, Jim is up and moving, quickly shedding Spock of his ruined briefs and trying to untangle his ankles from his own trousers.

“Lube, Spock,” Jim says, and it takes Spock a moment to think through his daze.

“The top drawer in the bedroom on the left,” he responds breathlessly. Jim dashes away quickly and Spock fondly calls, “The left, Jim.”

Jim changes directions and disappears into the correct bedroom. He is back in an instant, holding a vile that Spock had never intended to use while on this voyage but was suddenly so glad he thought to bring it. Spock spreads his legs and Jim slides easily between them. He is hit with a sudden wave of anxiety, his mouth going dry in anticipation and uncertainty. Jim pauses, apparently noticing the slight change in demeanor.

“Have you ever done it like this?” he asks.

Spock shakes his head. “Never.”

Jim looks at him candidly. “Like, never never?”

He shakes his head again and Jim bites his lip. “Okay,” he says, then softer, “Okay. You tell me if anything feels wrong, and I’ll stop.”

Spock nods and pulls him forward for another kiss. This time it’s sweeter, their tongues tangling together in a harmony that quickly turns heated as Jim starts to rock, grinding his leaking cock against Spock’s hip. Spock hears the vile opening, then starts a second later when a finger brushes against his entrance. It rubs there a second before slowly pushing inside.

Spock gasps at the intrusion, reaching out again to latch on to Jim’s upper arm and shoulders. Jim watches him carefully, pulling the one finger almost completely out before sliding another in. The feeling burns, but it is not entirely unpleasant.

“Is that alright?” Jim asks gently. “You gotta tell me if it hurts.”

“Does not hurt,” Spock gasps back. He’s starting to get hard again, squirming back on Jim’s fingers to find _something_ , but he doesn’t quite know what.

Jim apparently seems to know, as he slides his fingers in and out once before expertly crooking them in just the right place. Spock jolts and cries out, every nerve ending on his body suddenly lighting up as Jim brushes against a bundle of pleasure within him.

Above him, Jim smirks. “Seems alright to me.”

Spock opens his mouth to retort, but Jim scissors his fingers and scrapes against that spot again and Spock’s head falls back with a strangled keen. Jim seems to be tormenting him, sliding and pressing his fingers in just the right way but pulling back and keeping him from orgasming by the barest of margins.

“Jim,” Spock bites out eventually, trying to sound authoritative though he hardly poses a threat in this position. “Stop teasing me!”

“Sorry,” Jim relents, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “You look pretty when you squirm.”

Before Spock can think of an intelligent response, Jim removes his fingers. Spock nearly takes it back and whines at the loss, but Jim lines up his cock and pushes the head inside.

Spock sucks in a sharp breath and bites down hard on his lip to muffle his cry to a whimper as Jim fills him. Jim yanks on one of his legs, hitching it over his shoulder and somehow pushing deeper.

“Fuck, Spock,” he mutters under his breath, sounding like he was in awe, of all things. “You’re so tight.”

When he is fully seated inside, they stare at each other, locked in a moment of heat and pleasure. Spock feels like his entire body is electrified, lit aflame by Jim’s gaze and touch.

But then Jim rocks his hips forward, and Spock feels like he is falling all over again.

Jim thrusts shallowly a few times, building up a rhythm before sliding almost completely out and back in. He does it again, harder this time, and Spock arches off the couch into him. Jim latches onto his neck and sucks, moaning when Spock starts to meet his thrusts halfway. He catches Spock’s other leg under the knee and bends it forward, not slowing his movements, angling Spock’s hips until—

“Jim!” Spock cries, his arms flailing out to grab onto Jim’s shoulders, his blunt nails digging into the flesh.

Jim doesn’t stop, positioning his hips more feverishly as he aims and hits Spock’s prostate every time. Spock can only hold on as Jim wrenches the pleasure out of him, becoming more vocal as he starts to gasp out little “ah”s in time with each inward push. Jim is groaning and kissing his neck and face, and Spock can feel the coil of a second orgasm start to build.

But suddenly, he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want Jim to ever stop touching him, to ever leave him. He grabs Jim’s hair almost roughly and pulls his head back, forcing him to look him in the face.

“J-Jim,” he stutters, “I—I need to—“

“I know,” Jim says, his voice eerily calm despite to his actions. “You can let go. I’m here, I gotcha.”

Then he shoves his hand between their sweaty bodies and wraps it around Spock’s cock, pumping it once.

Stars break out across his vision as he wails and comes undone. His limbs flail and he arches up, his release spilling over Jim’s hand. He feels as though every inch is being wracked with ecstasy, unknown until this very moment.

Jim follows him over a second later, crying out and kissing Spock hard enough to knock the breath out of him, hot and spirting inside of his body.

They both are breathing heavily, Spock madly inhaling while Jim exhales. Jim slowly pulls out and lowers Spock’s legs back down to the couch, but doesn’t move away from his spot between them. Spock raises a hand to brush across Jim’s face, swiping his thumb across the sweat formed on his swollen upper lip.

“You are shaking,” Spock observes quietly.

“I’m fine, Spock,” Jim pants, still not quite down from his high. Spock draws him closer and smooths his sweaty hair from his brow, pressing a kiss there and holding him close. Then, he closes his eyes and lets himself slip into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize in advance for this chapter. There. Now read on.

Jim blinks his eyes open to a warm room and an even warmer body next to him. He brings up one of his hands to brush against Spock’s unconscious face, glowing in the soft light of the suite. His normally neat bangs have fallen messily across his forehead, his bow lips slightly ajar. Jim traces his thumb over Spock’s bottom lip and his dark eyes flutter open.

Jim smiles. “Hi beautiful.”

A flush spreads across Spock’s nose and Jim chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to both of his cheeks. “You feeling alright?” Jim asks. Spock nods and slowly moves to sit up, wincing as he does so. He untangles his legs and Jim helps him stand.

“We should get dressed,” Spock says. Jim nods, but sweeps his eyes hungrily down Spock’s naked body one more time. “ _Jim_ ,” he scolds, and Jim waves him off.

“Sorry,” he says but doesn’t mean it, bending and picking up a bundle of his clothes. He tosses one of Spock’s shirts to him and starts pulling on his pants. They finish dressing in silence—Spock is just buttoning his shift cuffs and Jim is pulling on his coat when a knock sounds at the door.

Spock’s eyes snap up.

“Spock,” Stonn’s voice calls from the other side of the door. “ _Ben je er?_ ”

Spock quickly shoves at his shoulders and pushes him into the other room, closing the door behind them just as Jim hears footsteps. Moving past him, Spock opens the door to what must be a servant’s entrance and tugs him out into the hall.

“That was close,” Jim breathes, already stepping down the hall to follow Spock. He glances over his shoulder and is surprised to find Stonn stepping out of the door, catching sight of them and stepping forward.

“Spock,” he hisses, but Spock seems to already know. His pace increases, striding faster until he suddenly grabs Jim’s hand and breaks into a run. They rush past a few disoriented first-class passengers before sliding into an elevator just before its gates close.

“Down, down, go, go, go!” they both chant, and the attendant obliges, the elevator jerking into action just as Stonn reaches the gates.

“ _Klein beestje_ ,” Stonn spits, scowling down at them. Jim has no idea what that means, but whatever it is makes Spock throw up his middle finger. A laugh bubbles up in Jim’s chest as Stonn’s eyes narrow, darting away from the gate just as they sink lower out of view.

The gate opens at the next deck, both of them tumbling out of the lift. “What’d he say?” Jim asks, but his question never gets answered as Stonn comes barreling down the staircase. “Oh, shit!”

“Go!” Spock grabs Jim’s hand again and pulls him down another hall, both of them sprinting in earnest now. They take turn after turn, going down lower and deeper into the decks of the ship. And even though they’re being chased by a man who probably wants to rip him limb from limb, Jim can’t stop grinning.

Reaching a dead end, Spock turns to Jim a little helplessly. “Where now?” he asks. Jim glances around the hall before trying one of the doors to his right. It’s locked. He tries the next one and it opens easily, so he quickly pulls Spock inside. It’s a small mechanical closet, the noises from the engine room below blocking out all other sound.

Realizing they are at another dead end, Jim hastily starts going down the ladder toward the engine room. Spock catches on and is quick to follow. When they reach the bottom of the ladder, Jim immediately starts to sweat. It was like a furnace down here.

“Oi!” a man shouts, approaching them. “The ‘ell ‘re you two doin’ down ‘ere?”

Before he can make up a lie, Spock seizes him by the collar and whirls him around, breaking into a run again. Jim laughs and follows. The engines are deafening in his ears and the grate floor bounces under his feet, but all he can focus on is chasing Spock through the thick clouds of smoke.

“Mister Scott,” Spock nods in greeting as they pass by a familiar figure standing by one of the engines.

“Laddie? What God’s name—”

“Buy us some time, Scotty!” Jim shouts over his shoulder, not slowing to keep up. He might give the appearance of being kosher, but _damn_ Spock could run.

Spock finds a staircase and tears up it, Jim just on his heels. They get back up to the top levels, but Spock doesn’t stop running until they burst out onto the outer deck of the ship. Jim’s lungs are burning and he bends to put his hands on his knees as he sucks breath after breath of the freezing air. He glances up to see Spock leaning against the side of the door they came through, looking just as exhausted.

Despite everything, Jim bursts out laughing. “That—that was one of the craziest things—I’ve ever done,” he wheezes. “You’re—you’re insane!”

He expects a witty rebuttal, but Spock’s eyes suddenly turn serious. He pushes off the door and steps closer, taking Jim’s hands in his, forcing him to stand upright.

“Spock? What is it?” he asks, anxiety striking through him.

“I made my decision,” Spock says firmly. “When the _Enterprise_ docks, I will get off with you.”

Jim’s heart leaps into his throat. “Okay, well now you really _are_ crazy.” When Spock’s expression doesn’t falter, Jim realizes with a jolt just how much he means it. “Wait, you’re _serious?_ ”

“It does not follow any logic at all,” Spock agrees. “But if there is anything you have shown me these past few days, it is to trust my instincts.” He runs his thumbs over Jim’s knuckles, the touch burning against the chilly air. “And my instinct is to be with you.”

Jim flushes under the intensity of his gaze. “I…I don’t have anywhere to stay, I can barely support myself on a good day, I don’t have money to—”

Spock brings a finger to cover Jim’s lips and shushes him like Jim had done hours before. “We can ask to stay with your brother,” he answers smoothly, as if he had been thinking about the solution all along. “I am qualified to teach at any university in the country, and you can find work where you can. We can stay in New York until we have enough money, then we can travel to Iowa or—San Francisco.”

Jim’s heart pounds in his chest. Because they could. _They could._

“Oh my God,” he says dumbly. Then, a manic smile spreads across his lips, his face feeling as if it was splitting in half. “Oh my _God_!” He wraps his arms around Spock’s waist and twirls him around, laughing like a fool. “I’m the luckiest man in the world!”

“Jim, please,” Spock begs playfully. “Not in front of the watchmen.”

“Fuck them,” Jim tosses back, still grinning. “I love you.”

Spock’s eyes widen and Jim realizes what he just said. His smile fades and his face turns more serious as he repeats softly, “I love you, Spock.”

Spock stares at him for a second before surging forward and mashing their lips together. Jim kisses him back just as fiercely, pouring every ounce of affection he felt into the kiss. The cold easily dissipates at Spock’s touch.

Dimly, Jim hears shouting above them. Then, the world seems to tremble as the deck around them shakes so hard it knocks Spock away from him. Spock’s eyes are locked on something behind him, and Jim whirls around to see an iceberg, nearly as tall as the ship, ramming into the deck.

He yanks Spock back just as chunks of ice break off and reign down where they were standing seconds before. A sound like shrieking metal cuts through the air as the iceberg passes.

Anxiety sparks in Jim’s stomach as the shriek stops. “Did we just hit that thing?”

Spock looks just as startled as he feels. “Unclear. But even if we did, the _Enterprise_ won’t sink.”

Jim steps closer to the rail, peering across the edge to look back at the iceberg. “Let’s hope not,” he says. “I’m not really in the mood for midnight skinny dipping.”

“Jim,” Spock chastises. “Really, my modesty.”

“Hey, complain all you want,” he teases, smirking and leaning back against the rail. “I’ve already seen you naked.”

Spock rolls his eyes and Jim snickers. “Either way,” Spock continues, “I should inform my father in case this situation becomes hazardous.”

He holds out his hand and Jim takes it, both of them stepping back inside of the ship. Nothing seems out of the ordinary on the first-class decks, as if the ship _didn’t_ just ram up against the side of a giant iceberg. But, Jim guesses, rich people liked to ignore the obvious and pretend like they had everything under control.

When they get back to the hall of Spock’s suite, Stonn is outside waiting for them. He glances down at their joined hands and sniffs. Spock keeps his chin held high as he passes, not once letting go of Jim’s hand. Prides rushes through Jim at a display of dignity he knew must have been hard for his Spock to maintain.

 _His Spock_.

A childlike excitement bubbles in him. Because Spock would be with him for the rest of his life now—maybe they’d even get married. They’d be together. Forever.

But when they step back in the suite, Jim is thrown for a loop when he suddenly gets grabbed by two security officers. “Oh, come on,” he says exasperatedly. “What’d I do now?”

“What is going on?” Spock asks, his eyes darting from T’Pring to Sarek to the officers. “We do not have time for this. We are in a serious situation!”

“I could not agree more,” T’Pring says smoothly. “It seems two precious things of mine have gone missing tonight, and now that one of them is back in front of me I have a promising idea of where to find the other.”

She shoots a look at Sarek, who nods to the guards. “Search him.”

The officers start to jostle him, tearing the jacket off his shoulders. “What?” Jim says in disbelief. “You think I took something? Look lady, I’m a lot of things, but I’m no thief.”

“T’Pring,” Spock starts, stepping forward, “we are in the middle of an emergency, this is not the place for your games.”

“Is this what you are looking for?” one of the guards asks, pulling the Vokaya out of one the coat pockets. Jim stares at the glistening amulet in confusion for a second before glancing back over to Spock. His stomach drops.

“How predictable of you, Mister Kirk,” T’Pring croons, stepping past Spock to take the necklace from the officer. “Although I admit, I thought you would have better skill for a professional liar.”

“Bullshit!” Jim snaps, but even as he does one of the security officers start to cuff his wrists behind his back. “I didn’t touch that thing!”

“He had no opportunity to take it,” Spock agrees, but he sounds dazed. “I was with him the entire time. This is absurd.”

“Perhaps he slipped it into his pocket while you were putting your clothes back on, dear,” T’Pring says, her voice like an icy slap. “Why else would he be spending time with you if not to get to this?”

Spock falters.

Jim feels his body go cold.

“Spock,” he says quickly, “Spock, don’t believe her. They put it in my pocket.”

“Shut up,” one of the guards tells him sharply.

“Take him below deck,” Sarek says offhandedly, as if arresting the man who had eaten dinner with him only one night ago was a casual affair.

“Spock!” Jim says, turning desperate as he starts to get pulled toward the door. “Look at me! You _know_ I didn’t do it! Look at me, you know they’re wrong!”

But Spock goes carefully still, looking just as unresponsive as he did the night Jim pulled him back from the edge of the ship. Jim feels panic take over and he fights to stay in the room—if Spock would just _look at him_ , he’d be able to tell he was telling the truth.

“I’m being framed!” Jim shouts, and the officers yank back harder on his shoulders. “You know me, Spock! You know I’m right!”

Once in the hall, Jim knocks the guard holding his shoulders into the wall and makes a break for the suite, but he doesn’t get far before the other guard slams his knee into his stomach. Doubling over in pain, he wheezes as the breath getting knocked out of him.

“Let’s go, cupcake,” the first guard tells him, forcing him to stand upright and leading him into the decks below.

~

Spock finds that his legs will no longer support him and he drops unceremoniously to the couch. Sarek glances at him and purses his lips.

“I will have Miss Chapel bring you some tea,” he says, then steps out of the room. Stonn follows, leaving Spock once again alone with the woman he loathed more than anything.

There is no sound other than the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Spock feels dazed, like he was still swimming in that same nightmare which had haunted him earlier. T’Pring eventually moves to step in front of him, looking rather pleased at the Vokaya.

“It was only a matter of time,” she says, as if she had been anticipating the moment when Jim would betray him. “You put your trust in such hopeless places, Spock. It is hardly ever good for you.” Spock clenches his jaw and glares up at her. She is still holding the necklace to the light, frowning at it as it glints between her fingers.

“But whoever would want to steal such an ugly thing is beyond me. Perhaps you have a taste for the grotesque.”

Spock jumps off the couch so fast the room spins. “You are the vilest creature to ever walk the face of this earth,” he grits out.

“And you a temperamental whore,” she responds calmly. “Exactly like your mother.”

His hands are shaking at his sides as red starts to cloud his vision. As if expecting this, T’Pring smiles hideously.

A knock at the door sounds.

“Miss?” Christine calls, stepping into the room. She seems to notice the tension in the air and cringes softly, but doesn’t leave.

“Not now, Chapel,” T’Pring snaps.

“Miss, I’m sorry,” Christine says, sounding very much like she would rather not be here, “but I have to ask you to put on your lifebelts and come up to the top deck.”

T’Pring waves her hand in the air, swinging the necklace carelessly around in the process. “We are in the middle of—”

“I’m sorry,” Christine interrupts, “but it is captain’s orders. They are suggesting thick coats and hats; the night is getting cold.”

T’Pring rolls her eyes and she shoves the Vokaya at Spock, then steps around him to go into the bedroom. Christine goes to follow her but T’Pring sharply says, “I can do it myself!”

Spock slips the necklace into his pants pocket and takes a measured breath to steady himself. He turns to Christine and asks softly, “Do you know why we must go outside?”

She shakes her head helplessly. “I know as much as you, sir.”

Spock purses his lips. “Very well. Thank you.” She goes to walk out the door, but he calls, “Christine!” She turns around to look at him curiously. “Be sure to put on a lifebelt on yourself, too.”

She smiles gently and nods, disappearing back out into the hall. T’Pring emerges a moment later, dressed in a luxurious purple coat. She forcibly threads her arm through Spock’s and pulls him out of the cabin, ever the picture of proper high class.

Other passengers who are dressed just as elegantly as any other evening and seem to hold the same confusion. From somewhere nearby there is music playing, and people chatter on in lifebelts as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Spock finds his father and Stonn and goes to them, T’Pring finally releasing his arm. He moves away from her as far as he can.

“They are causing a ruckus for no reason,” Stonn says, eyeing a servant bustle by with a plate of drinks.

“A standard precaution, I assume,” Spock says, thinking back to the scraping noise the hull had made when the iceberg hit.

Sarek frowns. “A precaution? For what?”

Before Spock can answer, his attention gets distracted by a new commotion. Forcing his way past others in the crowd, Mr. Scott is carrying an armful of blueprints, talking feverishly to a much shorter man at his side.

“…need ta get ta Pike,” he is saying. “Tell LaForge ta use the pumps—get him ta throw buckets over if he has ta, he’s gotta buy as much time he can. Get Riley off his arse and send ‘im in the boiler room, I don’ care how wet it is in there! And for Christssake, Keenser, get ‘um ta stop playin’ this bloody music!”

The man at his side nods and hurries away down the stairs. Not bothering to excuse himself, Spock quickly steps after Mr. Scott and follows him into a quieter servant’s passageway.

“Mister Scott!”

Mr. Scott whirls around, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Spock,” he says, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry lad, but I cannae—”

Spock steps closer and says lowly, “I saw the iceberg.”

Mr. Scott’s eyes widen and his face goes pale, cold resolution forming on his face. “Then ye already know.”

Chills rocket down Spock’s spine.

Mr. Scott shakes his head again and begins walking faster. It takes Spock a second but he forces his legs to follow. “We’re gonna do the best we can, but there’s no tellin’—”

“If the master-at-arms arrests someone, where would they be taken?”

Mr. Scott whirls around again, nearly hitting Spock with his blueprints. “ _What?_ ” he asks, dumbfounded. “Lad, ye need ta get ta a boat, not go play down in the lower decks!”

Spock stays determined and refuses to let any of his creeping anxiety show. “I am going to down with or without your help, Mister Scott,” he says evenly. “But without will take longer.”

Mr. Scott stares at him confoundedly for a second before heaving a tired sigh. “Take the lift ta the very bottom, then go to the left. Head down the crewman’s passage, go right, then left again. There’ll be a long corridor and if ye hit the stairs you’ve gone too far.”

Spock blinks, trying desperately to retain the information. “Thank you,” he says, then quickly steps around him to get back into the main hall. Barely holding himself back from running, he finds the elevator, but is blocked by a crewman before he can get on.

“Sir, the lifts are closed,” the crewman says, but Spock shoves past him and yanks the gate open. “Sir!”

Before he can think twice, he closes the gate and throws the lever down, and the elevator jerks to life. The crewman continues to yell at him as the elevator starts to descend decks, but Spock tunes him out, going over Mr. Scott’s instructions in his head. _Left, right, left, no farther than the stairs. Left, right, left—_

His thought process gets interrupted when a wave of water spills through the grated door of the elevator. He flinches back but water comes up over his shoes, instantly ducking his feet in freezing water. The elevator stops, and Spock sucks in a breath and opens the gate, wading out into the hall.

His eyes dart around the corridor, quickly finding and locating the crew passage. He moves forward, biting back a grimace as icy needles hit his feet with every step. Once he gets to the end of the hall, he turns right, but then comes to a dead end. Swearing softly under his breath, Spock retraces his steps and goes back out to where he was.

The water is up to his shins now, rapidly climbing higher every second. He glances to his left, then to his right, but forgets how far he had already come or how far he had to go. Mr. Scott mentioned something about a stairwell, but he couldn’t remember if he was supposed to look for it or avoid it.

Spock wades down another hall. All of them looked the same. He feels the fear he was repressing start to build at the sound of rushing water. His breath starts to stutter as the water goes over his knees.

“Jim?” he shouts, picking up a fallen chair and moving it out of the way. He steps further down and waits a moment before calling again. “Jim!”

Spock hears nothing and feels lightheaded. He starts to push further down the hall when he hears a faint clattering in the opposite direction.

He whirls around and holds his breath.

The sound comes again, this time paired with a muffled voice.

“Jim!”

Spock quickly splashes through the water, and as he gets closer the voice starts to make sense, starts to sound more like his name.

“Spock!” Jim calls from somewhere in the hall. “Spock, I’m in here! Follow my voice!”

The clanging becomes louder and Spock rips open a door to his left. He is relieved to see Jim, handcuffed to a pipe and half-standing on a chair to get out of the water, but still very much alive.

“What are you doing?” Jim cries, sounding both horrified and relieved. “You should be upstairs—”

“I am sorry,” Spock cuts him off, wading through the water to get closer. “I am so sorry, I should have trusted you—”

Jim opens his mouth to speak again, but Spock kisses him before he can.

He pulls back enough to breathe, “I wouldda never—Stonn put it in my pocket—”

“I know,” Spock says, kissing him again.

“Spock—you gotta look for a key,” Jim says, pulling back further. He jerks his chin to a glass cabinet that held multiple sets of keys. “Check in there. It’s silver.”

Reluctantly, he moves away from Jim and trudges over. The water was up to his midthigh, and his whole body is breaks out in chills. He goes through the cabinet quickly but shakes his head when he can only find brass keys. “None of them are silver.”

Jim’s lips form a thin line as he says, “Look in the drawer over here.” He gestures to a nearby desk with his foot. As Spock stumbles over, he asks, “Who told you I didn’t do it?”

“No one,” Spock replies, ripping the drawer out of the desk and digging through its contents. “I simply realized out of everyone in that room, you were the one who would never lie to me.”

“Oh,” Jim says shortly, clearly not expecting this answer. His joy his short-lived when Spock comes back emptyhanded again. “Okay,” he says, his voice firm despite his obvious anxiety eyeing the rising water. “You’re gonna have to go find someone. Maybe an attendant or another security guard.”

“I do not want to leave you—”

“I’ll be fine,” Jim assures him, flashing the same crooked smile that makes his heart stutter. “I know you’re gonna come back.”

Spock nods and steps forward to kiss him one more time before splashing out of the room. Once in the hall, he looks down both sides of the flooded corridor before deciding to go up another deck. He grabs both sides of the rails and pulls himself out of the water, his trousers sticking to his legs uncomfortably.

With his blood rushing in his ears, he goes down one hall and then another, calling for help but finding no answer. It isn’t until the lights go out above him does his panic spike, leaning against the wall to find some kind of barring in the darkness.

Then a deep metallic groan reverberates through the empty corridor, and his heart beats even faster than before.

But seconds later, the lights flicker back on. Spock scrubs the back of his hand across his forehead, attempting to right himself in the once again illuminated hall. Looking for help was useless. The only people down here were he and Jim, and if he waited any longer it would soon just be him.

The thought of Jim drowning makes a new kind of adrenalin shoot though him. _No_. He refused to lose Jim like this. He glances around the hall before noticing a firemen’s axe incased in glass on the wall. Quickly stepping over, Spock shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around his fist before swinging back and punching through the glass.

His knuckles throb, but he untangles the jacket and carelessly drops it to the floor, grabbing the axe and sprinting back down the hall. When he reaches the staircase, he is stunned to find it almost completely covered in water.

Even if he went down, there is a good chance he wouldn’t be able to come back up. There is also a chance that he is too late, and Jim is already dead.

But he had to try, at least.

Swallowing his uncertainty, Spock hooks the axe on one of the rungs above the staircase and quickly starts rolling up his sleeves and unbuttoning his vest, tearing it off and tossing it aside. He rips off his tie and throws that down too. He didn’t need the extra fabric acting as a weight to pull him down.

Once that is done, he grabs the axe and lowers himself into the flooded hall. A startled cry escapes him as the icy water covers his chest, the breath getting knocked out of him momentarily. He hooks one arm around a pipe on the ceiling, using it as leverage to pull himself against the water’s current back to the room where Jim was.

Here, the water is low enough for Spock’s feet to touch the ground and have leverage, but just barely. The walls around him moan but he ignores it, half-swimming back into Jim’s cell.

Now, Jim is standing on a desk, precariously trying to keep most of his body out of the water. His head snaps up when Spock comes back, his eyes widening on the axe.

“Is this acceptable?” Spock asks.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Jim responds. Spock trudges closer, pushing past fallen furniture as Jim asks, “Have you ever used one of those things before?”

“No,” Spock says bluntly.

“Put your hands farther apart,” Jim instructs. “Yeah, like that. And swing with your torso, not your arms.”

Spock nods and readjusts his grip. His hands are starting to tremble from the cold. Jim spreads his wrists out across the pipe and Spock is struck with another thought. “What if I miss?”

“Don’t miss,” Jim commands. “Hit it hard and fast, and don’t think about it. You can do it, Spock, I trust you.” Spock nods again and Jim chuckles dryly. “Handcuffs and an axe—ironically, this isn’t the worst third date I’ve had.”

“Jim,” Spock says, and Jim shakes his head and straightens his wrists again.

“Right, right, sorry. Okay, go!”

Spock does his best to aim, then closes his eyes and swings. The axe clangs off the metal, and Spock looks up to see Jim with both of his wrists still intact and cuffed, but now free from the binding chain. Relief floods him and he lets the axe slip through his fingers into the water.

“You did it!” Jim cheers, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around Spock’s shoulders. “I love you!”

Before Spock can respond, Jim jumps down from the desk and splashes into the waist-deep water. “Fuck!” he cries, cringing at the temperature. “Jesus, this is cold!”

“And I thought it was at perfect third-class temperature,” Spock deadpans.

Jim rolls his eyes. “Alright, smartass, we gotta move,” he says, wading through the water toward the door.

Spock follows him out into the hall, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. The lights flicker once above them, sending sparks down from the ceiling as another loud metallic groan echoes throughout the hall.

“There,” Spock says, pointing at in a direction that was now being blocked by a jarred wardrobe. “That was how I came down.”

Jim shakes his head, the water causing his bangs to stick to his forehead. “We’ll find another way.” He grabs Spock’s hand and begins trudging down the opposite hall. Spock quickly follows, his movements clumsy from the freezing water.

The hall stops at a fork. “Which direction?” Spock asks. Jim bites his lip and glances down one side of the hall, then the other. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock sees movement, and Jim’s face contorts in horror.

“Demora!”

Jim dashes past Spock through the water, and Spock turns to see the little girl Jim had danced with at the third-class party standing alone and confused in the hall. When Jim gets to her, he crouches down and she throws her arms around his neck and starts sobbing.

“Jimmy,” she wails, “I-I was with Pavel a-and Papa but I got lo-lost and the water—”

She starts to hiccup and Jim shushes her easily. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here, I gotcha,” he soothes, his voice taking on that eerily calm tone. Spock steps closer, the rushing sound of water growing louder over Demora’s sobs. The lights flicker again and he glances around rapidly, then realizing the door Demora had been standing in front of is seeping water. The wood is contorted and strained, and looks to break in any second.

“Jim,” Spock says quickly. “Jim, the door!”

Jim glances up and his eyes widen. “Shit!” he hisses, quickly gathering up Demora in his arms and standing. “Go, go!”

They start running just as the water bursts past the door. Demora screams, as does the walls around them. The wave catches up to them, easily knocking Spock off his feet and pushing him below the surface.

It’s like a thousand knives piecing into his skin at once. The current pulls at him and he is helpless to where it takes him, eventually slamming him against a metal gate at the bottom of a stairwell. The wave passes, and Spock shoots up to the surface, gasping for air. Jim is somehow still with him, breaking the surface a moment later, Demora in his arms.

The water is up to their chests now.

Demora coughs wetly. Spock immediately tries to pull at the gate, but it won’t budge. “It’s locked,” he says, half out of breath. “We do not have time to look for a key.”

For one second, Jim looks just as helpless as Spock feels. Then a fierce determination takes over his face and Jim moves closer, passing Demora to him. He reaches into her hair and snatches a pin out from her half-ruined bun.

“I’m borrowing this,” he tells her, shooting her a quick reassuring smile before taking in a large breath and disappearing under the surface.

For a moment, there is only the sound of the rushing water around them. Then the ship creaks, a metal grading against metal sound that makes Spock want to shudder. Demora whimpers and hides her face in his neck.

“It’s alright,” Spock murmurs, echoing Christine and not knowing if he’s talking to her or himself. The water climbs ever higher, now almost reaching the bottom of his chin. He shifts up to stand on the tips of his toes. “Jim knows what he is doing.”

No sooner than he finishes, Jim’s head breaks the surface. “Help me!” he shouts, grabbing one side of the gate. Spock shifts Demora on his hip and grabs the other, and together they wrench the gate open.

Now free, they duck under the water and swim to the top of the staircase and then stumble up the next flight of stairs, and then next, and the next.

“Go, go, up, up, up,” Jim chants behind him. “Don’t stop!” Spock’s feet are completely numb and there are pins and needles in his legs, but he clutches Demora tighter and doesn’t dare stop running.

The stairs lead them to one of the upper deck’s ballrooms, the floor of which is precariously leaning to the left. All three of them completely soaked and out of breath. Jim takes Demora from him and starts striding across the room, moving so fast Spock has to concentrate to keep his legs working. The room is disserted, the tables flipped and pieces of broken china litter the floor like snow.

As they near the entrance to the outer deck, Spock notices someone else in the room and stops abruptly. Jim stops, too.

“Mister Scott,” he calls. The Scotsman turns around from where he was leaning against one of the fireplaces, his expression dazed.

“Spock,” he responds, blinking as if just waking up from a dream. “Figures I’d run into ye one more time.”

“The ship is taking on water,” Spock tells him. “The lower decks are almost completely flooded.”

Half of Mr. Scott’s face twists. “I know.”

“Could they not shut the watertight doors in engineering?” Spock asks. “Surely that would stop some of the water.”

Mr. Scott suddenly looks very tired. “Mister Spock,” he says hollowly, “there _is_ no engineering.”

Spock swallows thickly as the implications of his words sink in. Mr. Scott’s eyes glaze over again, looking misplaced. “Perhaps if I woullda given her a stronger hull…” He trails off and glances between Spock and Jim, before his eyes rest on Demora. “Do ye remember what I told ye about the lifeboats?”

It takes a second, but a dim light goes off in the back of Spock’s mind. His body goes very still as he says quietly, “Yes.”

Mr. Scott tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. “You best be findin’ one, then. Both ‘o you.” Spock glances at Jim, whose eyes are wide. “Good luck.”

Spock turns back to Mr. Scott. He is filled with emotion and wants to say so much, but all that comes out is a choked, “Thank you.” It’s for more than the wish of luck, and they both seem to know it. Then he takes Jim’s hand and rushes out of the room onto the deck.

The open deck is crowded with mainly members of the upperclass with a handful of security officers blowing whistles and orchestrating filling lifeboats. It is almost pleasant, the way people are mingling and speaking to each other as if at a social gathering. Violin music floats through the brisk air, creating a kind of cruel atmosphere compared to the icy hell that was just a few decks below.

“What the fuck?” Jim spats harshly under his breath. “Don’t they know the ship is sinking?” Demora whimpers again but raises her head from Jim’s shoulder to look around the crowd. She lets out a cry and starts wriggling frantically in his arms.

“Daddy!” she cries, apparently catching sight of someone in the crowd.

Jim looks around wildly and then appears to see him, too.

“Ben!” Jim bellows, shouldering past people to get to him. A round-faced man turns around and his face lights up in relief. Demora squirms more and Jim puts her down, the girl immediately dashing into the arms of her father.

“Demora, thank God!” Ben cries, wrapping his arms around her. He glances up at Jim and Spock in confusion. “I thought she was with Hikaru.”

“She got lost,” Jim supplies. “The decks are taking on water fast.”

A new kind of concern flits over Ben’s features. “Is Hikaru still down there?”

Jim shakes his head, looking helpless. “I don’t know, I really don’t know. I’m so sorry.”

Ben’s face goes pale and he nods once. “Thank you.” He picks up Demora and is instantly lost in the crowd. Jim shoots him a little smile of relief, and Spock is about to smile back before two similar figures step through the crowd.

“Spock!” T’Pring calls, somehow still looking poised as ever. “There you are.” She moves right in front of Jim, blocking him from sight. Stonn shoulders up behind her, pushing Jim even farther away.

T’Pring looks him up and down and frowns. “Darling, what on earth happened to you? You look as if you stood through a monsoon.”

Spock can’t even think of a response. She doesn’t give him time to, anyway. “Come,” she says, taking his wrist in an iron grip. “We must take our seats on the lifeboat. Your father is already onboard waiting.”

She starts to tug him forward and he stumbles forward a few steps before his brain kicks back in. “No!”

T’Pring turns around in confusion, still holding on to his wrist. “What?”

“I am not leaving without Jim!” he says, ripping his arm away from her. T’Pring’s eyes go wide before they narrow dangerously.

Jim pushes past Stonn to get to him. “Spock, don’t be stupid!” he scolds. “Get on the boat.”

“No,” Spock says again, but he is manhandled by Stonn and the crowd, pushing him near the edge of the deck. T’Pring is in front of him getting assisted into the lifeboat, and Stonn is behind him, blocking any escape. Jim is there, too, but is kept just out of reach.

Spock pushes at Stonn’s shoulders to get him to move, and Jim takes the advantage, crowding closer to him and taking his hands.

“I’ll be fine, Spock,” Jim promises, shooting him his crooked smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Get in the boat.”

“Not without you,” Spock hisses fiercely through his teeth.

“Spock,” Sarek calls sharply from the boat. “ _Now_.”

“I’ll catch the next one,” Jim assures him, glancing warily out of the corner of his eye at Stonn. “Don’t worry.” He squeezes Spock’s hands and pushes him toward the boat.

Spock climbs shakily over the railing and all but falls into the lifeboat. T’Pring instantly latches on to his arm, but he doesn’t look at her or his father. He can’t look away from Jim. As the lifeboat begins to lower, Spock sucks in a breath at the sudden rockiness of the boat. He feels dizzy, contained, like all he had done the past few days had been nothing more than a dream.

A flare shoots off from the deck, rising high into the sky before bursting like a bomb. It illuminates Jim against the night, casting shadowy light across his face. His eyes are so blue, even in the dark, shimmering like stars. His lips pull up slightly as he stares back at Spock, his affection and adoration written so clearly on his face.

It wasn’t a dream.

And Spock realizes he would rather spend what little time of his life he had left trying to survive with Jim than going back to pretending they had never met.

He stands so fast it rocks the boat.

“Sir!”

“Stop him!”

Dimly, he hears Jim scream, “Spock, _no!_ ”

The voices are drowned out by the rushing of his blood in his ears. Before he can think twice, Spock jumps from the lifeboat and barely catches himself on the ledge of the lower deck. He hears his father screaming his name, but he ignores it as he scrambles to pull himself up on the deck.

Tearing wildly through the crowd, Spock moves into the grand hall and runs over to the stairs only to see Jim running down them. They crash into each other halfway, Jim throwing his arms around his waist and hugging him to his chest.

“Spock!” Jim sobs, not releasing his grip. “You’re so stupid! So, so stupid, Spock!” He pulls back and takes Spock’s face between his hands and peppers every inch almost furiously with kisses. “Why did you do that?” Jim asks frantically, his eyes bright with tears. He kisses Spock on the lips, then shakes him and asks again, “Why?”

Spock’s chest heaves as he brings one hand to cup the side of Jim’s face. “I believe you once phrased it as, ‘you jump, I jump.’”

Jim stares at him in awe, his mouth falling open. “Right,” he says eventually, his voice cracking. Spock’s lips quirk up into a smile before dragging Jim closer for a fierce kiss.

“Oh my God,” Jim moans, pressing his forehead to Spock’s and pulling him closer again. “Oh my God, oh my God. You’re incorrigible.”  

Spock feels a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside of his chest, but before it can get released, something goes whizzing by his ear. To their left, the staircase railing explodes into shards of wood. A woman in the room screams.

“Move!” Jim shouts, shoving him away. Spock whirls around to see Stonn leaning over the top of the staircase, brandishing a gun. He points it right between Spock’s eyes and pulls the trigger, but Jim yanks him aside just in time. The bullet hits the spot on the staircase where they had been standing seconds ago. “Run!”

Jim takes his hand and sprints down the steps, Spock at his heels. Gunshots are still ringing out Stonn races after them. They round a bend and find the rest of the stairs covered in water. Jim stops but Spock doesn’t, clambering ahead and pulling him in.

“That way,” Spock heaves, ducking as another bullet explodes in the water just to his right. “The opposite way the ship is leaning.”

Jim catches on and they both struggle through the water. Being back in the water hurts, like knives stabbing through his raw feet and shins. This time, Jim gets ahead of him. “Come on, Spock,” he hisses. “ _Come on_. Lift your knees higher!”

Spock does, glancing behind his shoulder to see Stonn at the bottom of the stairwell, standing just on the edge of the water. He raises the gun again but it clicks uselessly. His face is contorted in fury as he shouts in Dutch, “ _Run while you can, you half-blooded faggot!_ ”

Jim tugs him farther and just before they turn around a bend in the hall, Spock damns all propriety and screams back in English, “Go to hell!”

Jim barks a hysterical laugh. “You’re amazing,” he pants genuinely, his eyes full of affection. Spock’s heart flutters helplessly. “C’mon, we gotta go down. He can’t follow us there.”

They don’t stop moving, going down two decks but toward the incline. The water level slowly lowers as they go farther move down the hall. The _Enterprise_ groans and tips farther and farther to the left. The lights are flickering more frequently now, sometimes leaving them in seconds of darkness before turning back on again. Spock doesn’t dare let go of Jim, holding on a little tighter every lapse into black.

“Stairs,” Jim wheezes. “We need stairs. If the lights go while we’re down here we won’t be able to get out.”

Spock nods and they run farther down the hall. Eventually they hear a number of voices and shouts echoing down the hall. Jim automatically heads toward the sound. They come across a large crowd of people moving madly around the narrow hall, screaming and shoving at each other.

“What the hell?” Jim mutters.

In the crowd, Spock catches sight of a familiar swoop of brown hair. “Leonard!”

“Bones!” Jim shouts at the same time, sounding overjoyed. Leonard whirls around in confusion and catches sight of them. He elbows his way over and Jim lets go of Spock to throw his arms around him.

“Good to see you, kid,” Leonard tells him, sounding just as relieved as Jim. “It’s a madhouse down here.”

“What’s going on?” Jim asks, pulling back and frowning.

“They closed all the gates to the upper decks,” Leonard says anxiously. “Said it was a precaution and they’d unlock them as soon as the lifeboats were bein’ deployed, but this goddamn thing is sinking.”

“The lifeboats _are_ being deployed,” Spock says lowly.

Fear strikes across Leonard’s face. “What?”

“Jeem! Spock!”

Spock looks back in the crowd to see Pavel waving desperately at them. It takes a second for him to weave his way through the pushing crowd, Hikaru just behind him. “You’re alive!” the Russian chirps.

Hikaru looks frantic and disoriented. “Have you seen Demora?”

Jim nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I found her and gave her to Ben. They were on the top deck the last time I saw them.”

Relief floods Hikaru’s face, but it quickly turns to anxiety. “I have to get to them!”

“I sure as hell ain’t dyin’ down here, either,” Leonard snaps.

“But there ees a guard vho von’t open the gate,” Pavel says helplessly. “No one can get through.”

Spock glances around the hall and gets an idea. “The bench.”

Everyone turns to look at him. Jim is the first to catch on, his face lighting up in recognition. He grabs Spock’s face between his hands and kisses him quickly. “You’re a genius!”

Jim pushes his way to the bench, grabbing one side and Spock taking the other. They heave at it and it rocks slightly, the wood on the bottom beginning to warp, but it doesn’t give.

“Bones, Hikaru!” Jim calls, and the two men rush over, grabbing the other edges of the bench and pulling. The bench breaks free from the floor with a crack, and they heave it up into their arms.

Pavel flits around frantically, pushing and tugging at the crowd who was still surrounding the gate. “Move, move, move!”

A path starts to clear to the gate. Spock sees a guard at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide in terror.

“Put that down!” he commands, but his voice is panicked.

“Ready?” Jim shouts. Spock squares his shoulders and Hikaru readjusts his grip. “Okay, now!”

Together, they rush forward and slam the bench against the metal. The guard moves quickly out of the way as the gate breaks easily and the bench gets dropped. Jim and Hikaru hurtle over the wood and get to the other side, Spock and Leonard quickly following. The guard is still screaming at them, but cuts off when Pavel climbs over and slams his fist to his jaw.

“ _Zatk`nis!_ ”

Spock finds Jim’s hand again and they tear down the hall, now flanked by the others. When they reach the top deck, there is significantly more hysteria than before. Screaming voices and whistles fill the air in the place of the cheerful music. People are running and shoving at each other to get through the crowd.

“I have to find Demora and Ben,” Hikaru says desperately.

“Go,” Jim agrees.

Hikaru nods and salutes him before disappearing into the crowd, Pavel following quickly after him. A sickening sound, like the tearing of metal, rings out louder than before. The _Enterprise_ begins to tilt more dramatically, almost at a thirty-degree incline. Someone pushes past Spock roughly, knocking him bodily into Jim. Jim’s arm shoots out and wraps around his waist, keeping him close to his chest.

“We need a boat,” Spock says.

Jim shakes his head. “We need to _move_.” He starts to head up the incline, then stops and whirls around when he realizes Leonard isn’t following him too. The quick movement nearly makes Spock fall over. “Bones!”

“Jim,” Leonard responds evenly, making no movement to follow. “Look, if I’m gonna die, I wanna go raiding the whiskey closet.” Jim makes a face like he wants to argue, but Leonard shakes his head. “You do your chivalrous thing. I’ll see you one way or another soon.”

“Grouchy old man,” Jim mocks with no bite, his voice full of emotion.

“Insufferable brat,” Leonard shoots back, then offers a grim smile before dashing back inside.

The _Enterprise_ groans again, the wood trembling beneath their feet, and it snaps Jim out of it. He starts tugging on Spock’s arm again, pushing in and out of the crowd to move to higher ground.

Above them, the lights flicker once before finally giving out. People start to scream as they are cast into darkness, but Spock can only focus on the blood rushing in his ears and the sound of Jim’s heaving breath. Suddenly, the sound of cracking wood and shrieking metal drowns out all else, and Spock watches in horror as the hull breaks in half, the bow sinking into the ocean.

The whole ship shudders, knocking them down from the force. Spock’s arm shoots out and latches on to the railing, gripping tighter as the incline of the ship increases. Jim scrambles to his feet, pulling Spock up and dashing to the back of the stern. He weaves his arm through one of the railings, but Spock takes a step farther and climbs over it. He pulls at Jim’s shoulders and tugs him up and over, too.

“It will fall back,” Spock tells him, his breath visible in the frigid air. He is surprised when the stern stays still, perfectly bobbing straight up and down in the water straight. He frowns in confusion. “Why is it not falling back?”

Jim shakes his head and looks around the rail wildly. “I don’t know, Spock. I don’t know.”

His question gets answered in the next moment when the stern begins to sink, lowering rapidly into the ocean. Spock feels his stomach drop as the swirling black water swiftly approaches. Then, he is abruptly struck with déjà vu. 

“Jim,” he says, his voice quavering, “this is where we met.”

Jim blinks, then throws his arm around his waist to huddle closer and presses a sloppy kiss to his temple. “Well I’m sure as hell not saying goodbye here, either.”

Other passengers scream and wail as they hit the water. Spock can hear Jim suck in a breath as he shifts his weight. “Okay,” he pants, his voice firm and commanding in Spock’s ear. “It’s gonna suck us down in the wake, but you take a deep breath when I tell you and kick for the surface. _You do not let go of me_ no matter what, understand?”

Spock nods shakily and glances up at Jim. His eyes are fiery and his expression is one of pure determination. His hair sticks messily to his forehead and his face is covered in sweat and salt water, but he has never looked more beautiful.

The ocean is just feet away now. He bites back a fearful noise and Jim grasps tightly to his arm. “We’re gonna make it, Spock, I promise.” This time, Spock can’t look away from the water. He can feel the cold spray on his face. “Ready?” He doesn’t have time to think before Jim shouts, “Now!”

He sucks in a breath just before the water slams into him, the _Enterprise_ falling out from under his feet. Whatever air he has instantly gets knocked out of him from the force. Pain stabs through his eyes and head from the frigid temperature, but he focuses on keeping Jim’s hand in his own as he kicks as hard as he can.

When his face breaks the surface, Spock is disorientated, sucking in air but wincing as it burned. People around him were screaming and yelling, and everything was so _cold_.

Jim appears out of the water a second later. He tugs on their joined hands, saying, “Move, Spock. Swim!”

Spock obeys, stiffly forcing his legs to move through the water. Jim leads him away from the crowd, swimming toward a large wooden panel that was floating on the surface.

“G-get on,” Jim says, his words beginning to stutter as his teeth chattered. “C’mon, li-lift yourself up.” Spock struggles to get good enough leverage, but eventually gets himself onto the panel. He reaches down to pull Jim up, but nearly causes it to tip over in the process. “No, no,” Jim says, sinking back down into the water. “You stay on. You’re thinner than me.”

“Jim,” Spock says, trying to protest but unable to form the words around his frozen thoughts.

Jim seems to know this and jerkily shakes his head. “I’m from Iowa, re-remember?” he says, trying to smile. “I’m used to the cold.”

He takes Spock’s hands in his and holds on to them tightly, as if they are the only things keeping him from floating away. Pressing their foreheads together, Spock focuses on keeping his breaths measured, feeling the stuttered puffs of Jim’s exhales on his face. Not even their breath is warm.

“I-it’ll just t-take a couple of mi-minutes to reorganize the boats,” Jim assures him, icicles starting to form in his hair. “J-just hang on a l-little longer.”

Spock tries, but soon he can’t stop his body from trembling. The sound of screaming starts to die down, and dread begins to seep down his spine. He attempts to move his toes but finds he can’t, unable to feel anything from below his knees.

He can’t do much but stare at Jim, taking in the perfect angles of his face highlighted by the moonlight.

“I love you.”

Jim looks at him, puzzled for a second before recognition and anger sweep across his face. “Don—don’t you dare,” he hisses fiercely. “Don’t tell me goodbye.” He jostles Spock’s hands. “I-I promised I-I’d get you o-out of this, you-you’re not gonna die!”

Spock finds it hard to agree with him. His entire body is shaking, each breath stabbing painfully into his lungs. He lays his head down on his arms, closing his eyes for a second before Jim jostles him again.

“Hey!” Jim cries weakly. “Y-you can’t close your eyes. You—you gotta stay awake.”

“Jim,” Spock murmurs, “I ca-can’t feel my l-legs.”

There is a silence and Spock’s eyes drift closed again. Jim breaks the quiet by asking suddenly, “Te-tell me a-about you—your mo-mother.”

Spock’s lips pull down in a frown, blearily cracking his eyes open. “Wh-what?”

“Your mom,” Jim repeats. “Wh-what did she—she look like?”

Spock tries to shake his head, but can’t find a way to get his body to coordinate. “I…”

“C-c-come on, Spock,” Jim pushes desperately. “Wh-what did she look like? I-I wanna see her.”

He has to concentrate for a few moments, fighting to think through the fuzziness of his mind. Eventually he brings an image of her to mind, but it takes even longer to think of words of how to describe her.

“S-she had long hair, and—and b-brown eyes,” Spock says, his tongue feeling thicker and thicker in his mouth with every passing word.

Jim huffs a bit and tries to smile again. “L-like yours?”

Spock shakily nods. “Y-yes.”

“I-I bet she was b-beautiful,” Jim says wistfully.

“She w-would have liked you,” Spock tells him sincerely. “S-she always th-thought I was too reserved.”

Jim nods, or maybe it’s just his body shaking. His cheeks are pale, his entire face now devoid of all color. He looks up toward the sky and his breath stutters as he whispers, “L-look, there’s a sh-shooting star. Tha-that’s g-good luck.”

With effort, Spock tries to turn his head but ends up just flipping on his back. The movement is stiff and it hurts to shift his legs. He still clutches Jim’s hand in his own and blinks hard, the stars fading in and out of focus above him.

He suddenly feels very small compared to the vast universe on display above him. He is reminded of something, but he can’t quite remember what. He struggles to concentrate, trying to focus on whatever is tugging at him, and eventually the lyrics to Jim’s song float across his mind.

_Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars…Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars…_

Spock tries to remember the rest of the lyrics, but something flashes out of the corner of his eye. Maybe another shooting star.

But then a warbled sound wafts across the air, as if underwater. Spock blinks, confused but forcing himself to focus. With effort, he moves his head to the side, the blurry image of a light moving across the ocean slowly becoming clearer and clearer.

It was a boat.

He blinks again, waiting for the mirage to disappear. But it doesn’t, and the sounds start to make more sense, becoming voices calling into the night.

Spock tugs at Jim’s hands, first just lightly then a bit harder as he starts to gain more awareness. He clumsily turns moves to back around, every inch of him covered in a layer of ice that weighs down his limbs.

“Jim,” he says, his voice unable to get any louder than a whisper. Jim’s head is down on his arms, his eyes closed. Spock jerks his hands a little harder. The metal cuffs around Jim’s wrists rattle against the wood, but he still doesn’t stir. “There is a boat.”

Then he notices Jim’s lips are blue, and terror seizes him.

“Jim!” he tries to shout, but it comes out more as a whimper. Spock pulls at his hands feverishly now as a wave of hysteria rises within him. “Jim, w-wake up.”

He still doesn’t move. Spock glances wildly over to where the lifeboat was, slowly moving away from where they were.

“Jim!” Spock hisses, frantically shoving at his shoulders harder than before. He breath stutters, the iron hand of fear reaching up and closing around his throat. 

But Jim’s eyelashes flutter.

Barely. But just enough.

Adrenaline surges through Spock, and he unlatches his hands and grabs Jim's shoulders. He tries to pull Jim up on the panel, not caring if it tipped over, just needing him out of the freezing water. The panel is unbalanced and splashes around as he struggles, the noise attracting the rowers of the lifeboat.

But Spock can only focus on trying to get Jim to wake up. The next instance, Jim gets pulled away from him by a rower, hauling him up into the boat. He immediately scrambles to keep his grip on him, but then Spock is yanked up, too. Someone wraps a thick blanket around his shoulders and tries to get him to lie down, but he can only think to stay close to Jim.

He flounders until Jim is in his arms, tucking his head safely under his chin. Still trembling, Spock clutches Jim close and prays the luck from that shooting star would last just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *UGLY CRYING AS COME JOSEPHINE, IN MY FLYING MACHINE PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND*


	4. Chapter 4

When Jim wakes up, he feels more hungover than he ever has in his entire life. His head is pounding, the throbbing at his temples is almost audible in his ears. He struggles to open his eyes, blinking against the harsh light.

He’s…in a hospital.

Jim licks his cracked lips and blinks again, trying to get his eyes to focus. He’s in a little white bed, wrapped in about five blankets. All of his limbs feel heavy and his skin burns where it touches the cool air.

Att the foot of his bed a familiar dark-haired figure is asleep, his head resting in the crook of his arms.

Jim opens his mouth and tries to speak, but nothing comes. It’s then that he notices how incredibly dry his throat it. Swallowing against the sandpaper of his tongue, Jim shifts clumsily and goes to wake Spock.

“I wouldn’t.”

Jim’s head snaps over to the opposite corner of the room. His mouth works uselessly for a second before he coughs out, “ _Bones?!_ ”

His best friend quirks an eyebrow. He’s lounging in a chair but stands and plucks a glass of water from the nightstand and hands it to Jim. Jim accepts it, wrapping both shaking hands around the glass and drinks. After he’s done, Bones takes it from him and helps him sit up.

“This is the longest he’s slept in days,” Bones continues softly, shooting an affectionate glance at Spock. “Damn bastard won’t leave. The nurses actually had to force him down to the cafeteria this morning to get him to eat.”

Jim looks down at Spock in confusion. The last time he saw him was—

“The _Enterprise_ ,” Jim says, suddenly remembering. “Bones—it sunk! I was in the water, and Spock was on that panel—” He cuts himself off and glances around the room again. “Where the hell are we?”

“New York,” Bones replies. “The _Constitution_ picked you two up, and the _Franklin_ fished me out.” At Jim’s befuddled expression, he explains, “I drank so much whiskey it kept my body temperature up. I didn’t feel a thing when I hit the water. Don’t remember much, either. Apparently, it’s a medical miracle.” He chuckles dryly once and Jim smiles weakly, too. “All I remember is wakin’ up in here to him fightin’ with whoever tried to take you to a different ward.”

Jim looks back down at Spock and warmth blooms in his chest. “How long have we been here?”

Bones shrugs. “Five days? A week, maybe?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “I’ve been asleep for a week?”

“You were pretty far gone, Jim,” Bones says grimly. “Two more minutes in that water and you wouldda died.”

He swallows as a heaviness settles over his shoulders. “Who else made it out?”

Bones shakes his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “Not many.”

Jim takes a shaky breath and thinks back to all the friends he made on that ship, and how he might never get to see any of them again. His throat feels tight, glancing down at the sheets. “It wasn’t supposed to sink.”

“And we weren’t supposed to be on it,” Bones tells him gently. “But look at what happened.”

Jim’s eyes land on Spock again, and he reaches out and brushes his thumb across his blunt bangs. Spock stirs, his eyes slowly peering open.

“Jim!” he cries, sitting up so fast Jim laughs. “How do you feel? Are you in pain?”

“Easy,” Jim says fondly. “I’m fine, Spock.”

Bones moves back from the bed. “I’ll be in the hall,” he says, then steps out of the room.

Spock instantly comes closer, resettling on the edge of the bed. He takes Jim’s hand and clasps it tightly, his eyes glistening and red around the edges.

“I came so close to losing you,” Spock says lowly. “I thought you would never wake up.”

Jim shoots him a smile, weaving their fingers together. “C’mon Spock, you of all people know I’m a stubborn ass. That’s a quality all Kirk’s share.”

Spock pauses and turns his eyes down to their hands. “I should inform you while you are here, you are not technically a Kirk.”

Jim blinks. “What?”

“In order to retain the confidentiality of our survival, I registered you and I under the maiden name of my mother,” Spock explains quickly. “I did not want my father or T’Pring to realize we had both survived, as we would have likely been separated.”

“You hid from your family on the _Constitution_?” Jim asks, still a little stunned.

“I did not want you to be taken from me,” Spock says, his voice a little frantic. “I cannot bear the thought of being parted from you. I—” He cuts himself off, his shoulders trembling. Jim feels his heart constrict and he draws Spock in, gently pulling him to lie on the bed next to him.

“I’m here now,” Jim assures him softly. He presses a kiss to Spock’s cheek. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Spock leans up and kisses him desperately. Jim responds as best he can, but pulls away when he starts to feel lightheaded. He shifts further over on the bed to make more room, and Spock slides closer. Spock was so warm, curling into him like a cat, Jim feels whatever tension in his shoulders instantly disappear.

Something registers in Jim’s mind. “Hey, wait. Wouldn’t Sarek know we were here if you’re paying for a hospital room?”

“I had other assets,” Spock murmurs into his shoulder. “I pawned the Vokaya once I was able, as it was worth much more as a relic from such a tragedy.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “You sold your mom’s necklace? How did you even find it?”

“It was in my pocket,” Spock says simply. “T’Pring threw it to me after you got arrested, and I did not have time to put it away.”

“You had that thing with you the whole time?” Jim asks in disbelief.

“The ship was sinking, Jim,” Spock deadpans. “The necklace was hardly my priority.”

Still, Jim shakes his head. “But why did you sell it? I thought it was special to you.”

Spock glances down. “ _You_ are more special to me than a token of my mother’s memory. I love you.”

Jim feels his face flush, his heart fluttering happily in his chest. “I love you, too.” He leans forward and kisses Spock sweetly, thriving with the feeling that he could do _this_ for the rest of his life.

“So, what’s my name now?” Jim asks, lifting a hand to caress Spock’s cheek. “Please don’t tell me it’s something unpronounceable in Dutch.”

Spock’s lips quirk up in amusement and his eyes are soft as he says, “Grayson.”

Jim considers it, then nods. “Grayson. Yeah, that’s definitely better than S’chn T’gai.” Spock shoots him an unimpressed look and he laughs. “I’m _kidding_. But does this mean we’re married?”

Spock’s eyes go wide and he looks quickly away, color rising to his cheeks. “I had not considered that, but…in a sense, yes.”

Jim smiles and moves his hand down to find Spock’s, weaving their fingers together. “I’m spending the rest of my life with you either way.”

Spock smiles. “As you wish, Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, thank you everyone for reading, reviewing, and crying with me!! <3 I hope you enjoyed my fix-it ending. You all rock.


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